


A Seal Upon Your Heart

by freckledandspectacled



Series: Song of Solomon [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Brain Damage, First Time Blow Jobs, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Kidnapping, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-01-18 21:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12396780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: Edward Nygma has newly emerged from his icy prison, his identity stripped from him and no one to turn to. This is a story of new beginnings, of friends, and of seconds chances. It is, in essence, a Love story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edward makes a new friend and meets an old acquaintance.

Edward’s confrontation with Oswald had gone… surprisingly well, all things considered. He wasn’t an icicle, at least, though he currently had a frosty wound on his hand to show for his troubles. Edward was still unsure exactly why Oswald had decided to let him go, but he believed it could potentially be a combination of lingering feelings and the realization that Edward was no threat to him in his current state. Either that, or it had been to further humiliate him, which was hardly out of the question. Edward wasn’t a threat to anyone, now.

Personally, Edward was _tired_ of fighting him. Tired of hating him. He was just tired. Tired, and a shell of the person he used to be. He’d willingly submitted to being frozen for that reason, but of course Oswald had to deny him that as well. Freezing the Riddler would have brought him satisfaction, but Edward Nygma was no prize. Edward was well aware of that. Or perhaps Oswald still loved him more than he hated the Riddler, and that was what had saved him. The whole situation was a tangle in his mind, he’d need time to sort it all out.

For now, he needed to treat his injury. Edward wondered briefly if his pathetic cry after the attack had won him Oswald’s sympathies, but it seemed unlikely. Oswald had never hesitated to kill before. Then again, Edward wasn’t just anyone. He didn’t want to dwell on Oswald’s feelings, though. He had enough sorting to do with his own.

“Damn son, what happened to you?” Edward looked up, finding that there was a man a little way down the sidewalk watching him. He was dark skinned and dressed not unlike Edward’s grandfather, from what he remembered of him. The man sported a flat cap, a long-sleeved shirt, and a sweater vest with an argyle pattern on the front. His glasses were bifocals, with a cord that went around his neck. Edward had been staring at the ground as he thought back on his encounter with Oswald, and he probably would have walked right by the man without ever noticing him if he hadn’t spoken.

“You wouldn’t happen to know of a walk-in clinic around here, would you?” Edward asked, continuing his approach. He seemed friendly enough, and for whatever reason his manner of dress drew Edward to him. Normally, Edward wouldn’t fall victim to sentiment and play into his schema of what a friendly person looked like, but without his deductive reasoning to rely on he lacked the ability to make theoretical judgements on a case-by-case basis. He was back to relying on past experiences and _intuition_ like everyone else.

“We don’t have clinics in the Narrows, but the fight club a few blocks down has a Doctor on duty. She’s been treating people who had that crazy virus that went around last year. She’ll see you for free if you were a victim of it, but I think she’d make an exception for a guy who comes in with frostbite in the middle of spring,” Emmet said, a knowing looks on his face.

“Thank you so much,” Edward said. “Who should I ask for?”

“Don’t know her name, but the place is called _Cherry’s_. It’s got a big sign out front— all lit up— can’t miss it. You ask for the doctor and they’ll know who you mean, I’m sure.”

“I cannot thank you enough,” Edward repeated. “Have a nice day.”

“Watch yourself, kid,” the man said, “I know you ain’t from around here.” Edward decided to take that as a warning, not a threat, and continued down the block in the direction the man had indicated. Perhaps he should have asked for his name. Sure enough, he came across a gym with a large sign out front, surrounded by round white lights. Edward pushed the door open with his shoulder to avoid touching it with his bare hands and stepped inside.

Though it appeared relatively still from the outside, inside was bustling. He caught the attention of a woman with olive skin and large brown eyes, stepping directly in front of her as she moved determinedly towards a swinging door.

“Watch it,” she barked, moving to go around him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to see a doctor,” Edward said, moving his hand meaningfully in front of her. “Could you point me in the right direction?”

“The Doc is probably in her _clinic_ , open your eyes.” She huffed, going through the door. Edward glanced up at the writing above it, helpfully reading ‘Walk-In Clinic’. He flushed with embarrassment. Obviously, he should have looked around first, but he didn’t want to wander anywhere he shouldn’t be and risk losing access to proper treatment for his hand. He possessed neither the supplies nor the know-how to do it himself and not risk any permanent damage, the necessity of amputation, or worse. Best to have a qualified professional look at it.

Edward pushed his way through the door after her, noting with dread that she was now seated behind the receptionist’s desk, reading an automotive magazine. Would his torment never end?

“Hi, I uh—”

“I let her know you’re here, take a seat. The doctor will see you shortly,” she said, never once looking up from the magazine.

“Thanks,” Edward replied, picking a seat as far away from her as possible. She intimidated him, despite the fact that she couldn’t be more than five feet tall. A door behind her swung open, and to his astonishment, Doctor Leslie Thompkins was revealed. They made eye contact for a moment, and then Edward bolted.

“Stop him!” Doctor Thompkins called. Edward was immediately seized by a pale woman on one side and a tanned man on the other. They lifted and dragged him by his arms back to stand in front of her, and Edward did not bother resisting. He knew he was screwed. His mob boss boyfriend— _friend_ was no longer any use a threat to keep himself from her wrath.

“How did you find me?” she demanded.

“I just needed to see a doctor, I didn’t know it was you,” Edward said, so quickly he wasn’t sure he was being entirely coherent. The door to the gym opened, and Edward flinched at the sound.

“We’re closed,” Doctor Thompkins called, never looking away from Edward’s face.

“How the hell did you end up in a mess like this?” a familiar voice said, exasperation clear. Edward craned his head backwards to find the same man from earlier. “It hasn’t even been ten minutes.”

“You know him?” Doctor Thompkins asked, directing her question at him.

“Yeah, I told him to come here for his hand. He looked pretty confused, so I wanted to make sure he actually found the place. I wouldn’t have sent him here if I knew you people were gonna rough him up,” the man said, a note of fatherly disappointment in his voice. The people holding Edward’s arms slowly and sheepishly let go.

“Sir, that’s not what we’re doing here—” Doctor Thompkins began.

“Then what _are_ you doing?” he asked. “I have been coming to this gym for twenty years, and I have _never_ seen someone getting beat on outside of the ring. If you don’t want to help him, that’s fine. I’ll take him home. Got a granddaughter who’s gonna be a nurse.”

“That won’t be necessary,” a woman said, coming from the direction of the ring. She was pale, blonde hair in a daring updo and a streak of red and black across her eyes. She had several tribal style tattoos that Edward could see, and she projected confidence and control with an ease Edward wished he possessed. “Right, Leslie?”

“You can’t tell me how to run my clinic,” Doctor Thompkins retorted.

“And you’re upsetting my regulars,” the woman countered, stepping closer. Edward admired her ability to stand up to Doctor Thompkins; he’d seen lesser beings crumble before her. “Make it right.”

“Mind your business, Cherry, and I’ll mind mine,” Doctor Thompkins said, deceptively saccharine. Edward decided that perhaps he should speak up.

“Doctor Thompkins doesn’t have to help me if she doesn’t want to, I’ll just leave with this fine gentleman—"

“No,” Doctor Thompkins said, cutting him off. “You came to my clinic for help and you’re getting it. Follow me.” Edward hesitated, and the man from earlier walked towards them.

“You won’t mind if I stay in the waiting room?” he said, not waiting for an answer from Doctor Thompkins before he moved past them both and through the swinging door. She directed a glare at Edward, as though this was his fault, and then swept her arm out in a gesture toward the door, indicating that Edward should go first. He swallowed, then shuffled morosely through the door like a man condemned. The woman from earlier seemingly hadn’t moved, but she had moved on to an issue of _Popular Mechanics_. Doctor Thompkins lead Edward into a hallway past her desk, then to an empty room with an examination table.

“Sit,” she said, taking a clipboard off of the wall.

“Doctor Thompkins—”

“I changed my name when I married,” she said, writing on the clipboard. “Not that it lasted. I don’t need that reminder. It’s either Doctor— like I am to everyone else here— or Lee. Your pick.”

“Doctor,” Edward began again, choosing what he deemed the more respectful option.

“On second thought,” she interrupted, “Lee is fine.” Edward began to wonder if he had just witnessed a power play, but he wasn’t sure. Perhaps she did prefer Lee, or maybe she would have insisted on the opposite of whatever his choice was. Regardless, Edward wasn’t in the mood for games, he just wanted his hand seen to.

“Lee,” Edward started once more, ready to finally get a word in edgewise. “I really wasn’t looking for you specifically, I just needed a doctor. I can leave, and I promise you I won’t tell anyone. There’s really no one for me _to_ tell.”

“What about your friend, Penguin?” Lee said. “How do I know you won’t tell him? The isn’t a doubt in my mind he’d bargain my location for a favor from Jim.”

“ _Oswald_ did this to me,” Edward said, gesturing with his injured hand. “We’ve had a bit of a… falling out.”

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” Lee said. Edward didn’t think she was. She’d never liked Oswald, and probably figured Edward would be better off without him. That just wasn’t what you were _supposed_ to say at first when someone gave you bad news, Edward determined. “You say a ‘bit’ of a falling out... but he had Victor attack you. Something isn’t adding up there.”

“Ha,” Edward laughed halfheartedly in response. “This is really nothing. I’ve done worse to him, believe me.”

“So, I’m guessing you weren’t frozen because of some brain disease,” Lee speculated, finally putting the clipboard down.

“No. I mean, there is something wrong with my mind currently, but that’s wasn’t why.” Lee picked up a stainless-steel bowl, filling it with water.

“So, the rumors about you two being involved weren’t true,” Lee said, placing the bowl next to Edward and taking hold of his hand.

“What rumors?” Edward asked. Him? And Oswald? Ridiculous.

“People thought you two shacked up after he got you out of Arkham and made you his chief of staff. I thought it might have even been before that, given that you let Jim and Oswald use your apartment as a base of operations to go after Galavan,” Lee related.

“Oswald and I— it was never like that,” Edward said. “He was my best friend.”

“It sure looked that way,” Leslie said. “I’d say Gotham was fifty-fifty on the argument, before those pictures came out of the _Sirens_ club. Most people started to assume that was your way of announcing the relationship. Of course, being the wonderful and progressive city that we are—” she laid the sarcasm on so thick Edward was actually able to pick up on it, “no one wanted to make a big deal out of it and actually _ask_ you. You know, like reporters are _supposed_ to.”

“I never read anything like that,” Edward huffed. Lee submerged his hand in the bowl, and Edward couldn’t deny that it stung.

“I doubt you read gossip magazines, Edward,” Lee said, turning his hand over.

“Fair enough,” Edward said, hissing at the pain in his hand.

“So, what really happened?” Lee asked, almost like she was disinterested. Edward couldn’t tell if she was feigning it or not, but what was the harm in telling her?

“Oswald killed my girlfriend and then told me he was in love with me,” Edward said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. It wouldn’t do to tip Lee off to any vulnerability. Lee abruptly stopped working on his hand.

“What are you playing at,” she demanded.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Edward said, alarmed at her sudden change in demeanor. Lee crushed his hand in her grip, and he screamed. The pain in his hand wasn’t the worst he’d ever dealt with, but it was unexpected.

“How dare you try to use Mario against me!” Lee yelled, squeezing harder.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Edward pleaded, tears prickling in his eyes. He didn’t try to fight back, knowing full well that everyone in this building was likely an ally to her.

“What was her name?” Lee asked, finally releasing his hand.

“Her name was Isabella,” Edward said, gasping for breath. “She was a librarian. She loved me. She died because Oswald loved me.” Lee went quiet at this, gently taking hold of Edward’s hand again.

“I’m sorry,” Lee said. “I thought you were trying to trick me. Remember how I told you I got married, that it didn’t last long?” Edward nods. He knows that she married Don Falcone’s son, Mario Calvi. He was a renowned doctor, probably very compatible with Lee. Shortly after the wedding he’d died, but Edward had no idea how it happened. It was all very hush-hush, and he’d had his own business to deal with at the time.

“Well, Jim killed him.” Edward blanked at this.

“Our Jim?” he asked, trying to imagine noble Jim Gordon sinking to killing out of jealously. He’d always just pretended to be a good man, Edward truly believed that. Edward, Jim, and Oswald were just the same. They were all killers.

“Yeah, our Jim,” Leslie confirmed. She worked on his hand in silence for some time before Edward began to feel like he should say something.

“Why are you helping me?” Lee looked up at him, then continued her work.

“Why not?”

“I killed Kristen. She was your friend. It was an accident, but I still killed her. Then I framed Jim because I thought he was investigating me and I ruined your life. So far, the only thing you’ve done in retribution is punch me and hurt my hand, which you’re currently fixing. You don’t want more?” Lee stopped, then finished with dressing his hand.

“You really must have brain damage, if you think it’s a good idea to remind me of that when you’re at my mercy,” she remarked, moving to the sink the dispose of her gloves and wash her hands.

“I really do,” Edward admitted, “but mostly I want to understand.”

“You were unstable at the time you framed Jim. Not necessarily insane, but unstable. I read the files. Paranoia, delusions, hallucinations. You honestly believed that he was out to get you despite the lack of evidence. You still knew what you were doing was wrong, and you deserve to be held accountable for that, but… I can’t ignore what you were going through. And I can’t pretend I haven’t done bad things, too.” Lee looked away from him as she relayed this, busying herself with the sink, her clipboard.

“What on earth have you done?” Edward asked, tilting his head. Lee was practically a saint.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m making up for it. And you’re going to make it up to me,” Lee declared, opening the door. “Follow me.” Edward followed her out, his as-of-yet-unnamed savior standing to greet them.

“I heard screaming,” he said, suspicion lacing his voice.

“I have a low pain tolerance,” Edward quickly relayed. It wasn’t a lie, technically. It was lower than Oswald’s, at any rate. He huffed, then headed towards the door. Edward drifted after, stopping abruptly when Lee clapped a firm hand on his shoulder.

“I want you to come back after hours,” Lee said. Edward nodded, leaving her to her other patients.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of now this story is 15k and I'm still going. I plan to for some time. I'll be posting another chapter tomorrow, and then two on Thursday, each about 3k. After the episode I'll slow down a bit. What do you think so far? (There isn't much here yet, I'm afraid. Soon, though.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward finds a welcome distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I introduced this OC with the intention of giving Edward a friend, but he had another plans. Then I thought up a very juicy twist this could lead to, and that sealed the deal. I promise you, nygmbobblepot is endgame. A slow burn, but endgame. First, Edward must embark on a journey of self-discovery.

“I’m Emmett,” the man said, leading Edward toward the sounds of an ongoing fight. “Emmett Young.”

“Edward Nygma,” Edward said. “I’d shake your hand, but…” Emmett laughed, a full-bodied movement with a deep sound.

“Well, I imagine the doctor’s help didn’t come without a price?” Edward shook his head. “Well, I guess you’ll have to stick around. I have to get home, but my son’s around here somewhere.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Edward said, trailing after him. “Really, you’ve done so much for me already. I can’t thank you enough—"

“Owen!” Emmett called suddenly, heading towards a sharply dressed man wearing a black trilby and holding a beer.

“Hey Dad,” Owen replied, hugging his father. He had slightly lighter skin than his father, and dazzling green eyes.

“I want you to meet Edward,” Emmett said, gesturing at him.

“Hi there,” Edward said, awkwardly waving his injured hand.

“I’m Owen,” he said, offering Edward his fist. Edward delicately bumped it, smiling at him gratefully as he met it with his uninjured hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Edward here is a magnet for trouble, you watch out for him. I’m going home,” Emmett said. “He’s too much for me. Show him around.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Owen said, looking Edward up and down. Edward wasn’t sure what did it, but he blushed in response.

“Come here often?” Edward asked, wanting nothing more than to hit himself in the head immediately after. Owen laughed.

“Every day of the week. I work here, so… you can trust me to show you a good time,” Owen said, surprising Edward by continuing the flirtation. If that was what he intended, of course. Edward wasn’t sure how to be certain. “You want a beer?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Edward said, leaning back against a beam and turning his attention to the action in the ring.

“Do you fight?” Owen asked, sliding closer.

“No, no. I’m no fighter,” Edward said, smiling when one of the fighters pinned the other to the ropes. He’d never found this kind of spectacle entertaining before, but it wasn’t bad.

“What happened to your hand?” Edward’s brain stuttered on this. He didn’t want to be associated with Oswald, in a place like the Narrows it could easily make him marked. Not only that, but there was still a very real threat of people trying to use him against Oswald, believing that they’re still friendly. Even more than friendly. He should keep it simple. Simple.

“My ex— ex,” Edward blanked, unsure if elaborating by saying ‘best friend’ was too much or if he should simply stick with ‘friend’.

“Hey,” Owen soothed, placing a hand on Edward’s shoulder and dragging it down to his bicep. “Don’t worry about it, I don’t need to know all the details. Important thing is that you got away from her.”

“Him,” Edward corrected automatically.

“Him,” Owen repeated, eyeing Edward a little more critically. Or maybe reevaluating him. Edward couldn’t tell. “Did you call the cops on him?”

“No, that wouldn’t have been a good idea,” Edward said. Perhaps he should provide a reason; Owen had raised a fair point. “He’s a gangster.”

“I don’t thing Penguin’s giving out licenses for domestic violence,” Owen said. “You’re not going back to him, right?” Edward reeled at the mention of Penguin before realizing that Owen was _not_ implying that Oswald was his ex.

“No, I’m not going back,” Edward said, resolute. “What do you mean about licenses?”

“You haven’t heard?” Edward shook his head. “Penguin is giving out licenses for crime in exchange for a cut. If you have one, the cops can’t touch you. I’m guessing you’re not a gangster?”

“No, I freelance,” Edward said, keeping it vague.

“A real entrepreneur, huh? That’s cool,” Owen said. “Did the Doc fix up your hand?”

“Yeah, we actually go back,” Edward said, eager to establish this new identity apart from Oswald. He’d press any connections he could.

“You know the Doc? Get out of here! No one even knows her name, apart from ‘Doctor’. She just cut a deal with Cherry to fix up the guys and gals one day, and only thing she asked for was that she could use the office as a clinic when no one’s hurt. Cherry doesn’t have to pay for it, so she doesn’t care. Doc’s been a real help to the neighborhood,” Owen said, gushing about her.

“That sounds like her,” Edward said. Lee always had been too good for Gotham, but he wondered what it was she thought she’d done that made her fall.

“So, you know her name?” Owen said, leaning in.

“I do,” Edward confirmed, “But I don’t think I’m at liberty to say.”

“That’s cool,” Owen said, “I respect it. You sure you don’t want a beer?”

“I’m sure,” Edward said. They watched a few matches together, Owen telling Edward a little bit about the gym’s history in the Narrows. Someone knocked into Edward from behind, causing him to hit Owen, who’d been leaning in close to whisper conspiratorially in Edward’s ear about locker room gossip. He dropped his beer, the glass remaining intact, though the contents sloshed over the legs of Owen’s pants.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” Edward said, dropping to grab the bottle at the same time Owen did to prevent it from spilling any more of its contents on the floor. Owen snagged it first, bringing the bottle over to a nearby trash can.

“Did I get any on you?” he asked, looking Edward up and down.

“I don’t think so—”

“Here, let’s go look in the locker room,” Owen said, taking Edward’s wrist and leading him to it. The lighting was much better in there, and Edward examined himself for any traces of alcohol.

“No, I’m good, but it’s all over you,” Edward said, grabbing some paper towels. It wasn’t ideal, but he could get at least some of it out of Owen’s pants. He crouched on his heels, unwilling to kneel on the locker room floor. _Who knows what’s on it_. Pressing the towels to the fabric of Owen’s trousers, he took a fistful of it and squeezed, trying to wring it out.

“Ed, you don’t have to do that,” Owen said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.” Edward could smell the beer on him, and it was extremely off-putting. For no real reason at all, he suddenly and vividly recalled sitting on the couch trying to watch cartoons. His father had sat next to him, only to inevitably slump over and spill his beer on Edward, on the floor, the couch. Upon waking, his father demanded that he clean everything, because it was his fault he’d spilled it. His fault because he was the reason he drank, his fault because he was there, his fault because he could have noticed he was dozing off and woken him, or taken his drink and put it somewhere safe. Yet Edward also knew that his father would have been angry with him for doing that, with the only upside being that at least he wouldn’t have gotten any on himself. He’d caught a beating for it, but afterwards he’d always made sure that when his father started dozing off, he wasn’t doing it with a drink in his hand. Edward slowly rose to his feet, wondering if what Owen was saying was another sort of trap. He shook his head clear. There was no indication of that, he was just projecting.

“Are you a fighter, Owen?” Edward asked, abruptly returning to the safety of their earlier conversation. Owen smiled.

“Not for money, no. I’ve boxed all my life, though, and I teach some of the neighborhood kids,” Owen explained. “You interested?”

“I’m interested,” Edward said, unsure of exactly what about Owen he was interested _in_. “Show me something.” Owen laughed.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, right now,” Edward said, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you’re… _scared_.”

“Scared of you, string bean?” Owen laughed. For once, Edward couldn’t find it in himself to be offended. Owen was slightly shorter than him, but he was built. He removed his hat and took up a fighting stance. “You ever slap-boxed?”

“No, show me,” Edward said, poorly mimicking him.

“No, no no,” Owen scolded. “Like this.” He pushed Edward’s stance farther apart and made him drop his hips more. Moving in front, he pulled Edward’s arms so they were closer to being in front of his face. 

“Keep those arms up,” Owen instructed, “You want to protect that pretty face.” Edward blushed, and Owen slapped him on the ribs.

“Ow,” Edward whined, lunging forward and slapping Owen in the forehead with his left hand. Owen looked momentarily stunned.

“I’ll admit, no one’s ever done that before,” Owen laughed, touching his forehead.

“The face-palm is my signature move,” Edward quipped, slapping Owen quickly in the ribs.

“Hey!” Owen barked good-naturedly, “I wasn’t ready.”

“Aren’t you the master?” Edward said, dodging his retaliatory strike.

“Alright, padawan,” Owen warned, “get ready to get schooled.” They struck at each other some more, Edward’s shoes slipping on the tiles as he moved away from Owen’s slaps, unable to manage any more of his own. Owen fought like a dancer: graceful, light on his feet.

“This isn’t a fair fight,” Edward panted, already out of breath. “I’ve only got one good hand.” Owen abruptly stopped.

“Oh shit, you’re right. I didn’t—” Edward slapped his forehead again, smirking. “You!” Owen grabbed his wrists, backing him up against the lockers.

“That was clearly a time out,” Owen reasoned. “You cheater.”

“You could only claim it was _clearly_ a time out if you had _said_ it was,” Edward argued. “I was still very much going.”

“Well, we’re stopping now, I don’t want to hurt your hand,” Owen said, letting go of his wrists now that he knew Edward wasn’t going to go for any more cheap shots. Inexplicably, Edward missed the touch. He smacked Owen’s forehead, wanting it back.

“Hey!” Owen said, chuckling as he grabbed Edward’s wrists again, pinning them back against the lockers. “I wasn’t kidding, cut it out.” This close, Edward could see a light sprinkling of freckles on his face. He felt something warm alight in his chest at the sight of them.

“Make me,” Edward challenged, voice gone low and husky without his permission. _What am I doing?_ Owen’s expression changed from mirthful to lustful like the flick of a switch. He pressed closer to Edward, then pressed their mouths together. Edward sighed, enjoying the feeling of Owen crowding him back against the lockers, the pressure around his wrists. The kissing abruptly stopped.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Owen said, pulling away. “You just left your ex—”

“He was a jerk,” Edward interrupted, unwilling to let Oswald Cobblepot ruin yet another good thing for him, albeit indirectly. “You’re not, and you’re not taking advantage either. Please kiss me.”

Owen caved and resumed kissing Edward. He was good, playful. Owen kissed like he fought, like dancing. He released Edward’s wrists, taking hold of his hips. Edward looped his arms around Owen’s shoulders. They made out in the locker room until the sound of the door opening interrupted, Owen’s hands having travelled daringly to Edward’s ass, drawing them against each other in a heated embrace as they kissed. Edward wasn’t sure how far he’d have let it go, somewhat grateful for the interruption and the chance to clear his head. Owen pulled away and put a finger to his lips, taking hold of Edward’s good hand and grabbing his hat before leading him back into the gym. There wasn’t anyone in the ring, and the crowd looked a lot thinner. Perhaps it was closing time. How long had they been kissing?

“Listen, I have to help with cleanup and closing, but… do you have a place to stay tonight?” Owen asked, hopeful.

“No, I um— I lived with my ex.” Owen nodded sympathetically.

“Look, I know we just met and all, and I’m practically a stranger… but if you want, you can stay at my place tonight. No strings.”

“I have to see Lee— the doctor— after close, anyways. Maybe we can meet up after?” Edward asked.

“I’d like that,” Owen said. Edward smiled in return, quickly kissing him and then departing to find Lee. He could not believe his _luck_. He wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted from Owen, but he was a _fine_ distraction. Very fine. (Not only that, but he probably had a bed, food, and a shower. _Score_.)

“Ed!” Lee called through the door, “You’re late.”

“I wasn’t sure what time you closed,” Edward offered as an explanation. Lee rolled her eyes.

“It’s on the door.”

“Oh.” Edward had once again been foiled by clearly labelled signage. He was going to have to work on that.

“I want you to help me,” Lee said. “And you’re going to help me because you owe me.”

“Absolutely,” Edward agreed. He liked it here, and he wanted to stick around.

“I want you to steal money and supplies from Penguin.” Edward’s face dropped.

“No, absolutely not. We have a truce.”

“A truce? Edward, since when has Oswald ever honored his promises?” Lee said, exasperated.

“He kept his promise to Jim when he took the fall for killing Galavan,” Edward said. “And he kept his promise to me the last time we had a truce.” 

"There was a last time?” Lee asked, quirking a brow. Edward huffed.

“It’s a long story,” Edward said.

“I have time,” Lee said, crossing one leg over the other.

“I don’t,” Edward said.

“Got a hot date?” Lee joked.

“Something like that,” Edward muttered.

“I don’t care,” said Lee. “Spill.”

“Fine, I’ll give you our greatest hits. Oswald killed Isabella. I found out from Barbara Kean. Then I got my revenge on Oswald and shot him. I debuted as the Riddler and was taken into custody by the Court of Owls, as was Oswald at a later time. That’s when I found out he’d survived. We formed a truce to get out, then played cat and mouse until he froze me. Now you’re up to speed. Can I go?”

“No,” Lee said. “Why did you decide to become the Riddler?”

“What?” Edward said. Of all things, he had not been expecting that question.

“As far as the public knew, you were overcome with grief following the death of the Mayor and had a psychological breakdown that sent you on a spree killing. I’m guessing that’s not what happened, given what went down between you two.” Edward sat, stunned. He’d read the articles of course, but that was after the fact. Did they know how close they’d been to the truth?

“That’s… not entirely inaccurate,” Edward admitted. “After I killed Oswald— at first, I was looking for a mentor, then a nemesis. After my confrontation with Lucius Fox… I realized that the whole thing was just a very backwards way for me to hold on to Oswald for a little bit longer. I… I missed him, believe it or not. So yes, there was actual grief involved, even though I was the one who caused his absence.” Lee’s expression softened.

“I get it,” Lee said. “I won’t make you break your truce with Penguin; it sounds like you’ve had enough to deal with.” Edward can… _sense_ something. That she’s implying something else. He just can’t think of what it might be.

“You said your brain isn’t functioning the way it used to. I can perform an IQ test on you, but they take some time. Why don’t you come back tomorrow; wouldn’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting.”

“Not a boyfriend,” Edward was quick to point out. “A… person of interest.”

“An experiment?” Lee asked, something like disappointment there.

“That might be closer to the truth,” Edward admitted. “Tomorrow morning?”

“Before opening,” Leslie specified, “That’s eleven, by the way. In case you forget how to read my door again.” Edward flushed, then stood and left. Owen was dragging four trash bags toward the back door, which Edward helpfully ran to and held open for him.

“Thanks,” Owen said, moving past him and slinging them into a dumpster. “Now, where were we?” Owen approached Edward with a sly smile on his lips and a confident gait. He put his hands on Edward’s hips, forcefully pulling Edward against him, much to his surprise. Edward laughed, laying his palms on Owen’s shoulders and leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“I think you were going to invite me back to your place,” Edward insinuated, biting Owen’s earlobe. Owen gasped and walked Edward backwards to lean against the brick wall of the alleyway, pressing their lips together.

“In a little while,” Owen said, pressing his knee between Edward’s legs and grinding against his thigh. Edward let himself get swept up in the feeling, a welcome distraction from his many concerns. Owen was nice, he felt good, and he wanted Edward. That was enough. He grew bolder in his touches, practically hiking Edward up the wall as they kissed. Edward reciprocated, touching his chest, clawing him closer by his back. Their embrace was interrupted by a loud banging in the alleyway. Edward pushed himself off the wall to get a better look, Owen quickly stepping in front of him.

“It’s probably one of the guys,” Owen said, nodding at Edward to stay put. He hung back, watching as Owen walked down the alley—

And came flying back towards him through the air, a resounding smack sounding down the alleyway. Owen landed in front of him, groaning. Edward dropped to his knees, helping him sit up and checking the wound on the back of his head from when he landed. It was already bleeding freely, but head wounds always did. Edward looked up, observing a hulking, pale figure coming towards them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owen's a nice guy. I sorta feel bad sucking him into Ed's drama, but his father did warn him that Edward was a magnet for trouble. Oh Emmett, how right you turn out to be...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward encounters a potential ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who it is... You probably all guessed who that pale figure was, let's be real.

“Butch?” Edward asked, terrified. The last he’d seen him, Butch was attempting to shoot him. He was also _very_ cross about Edward cutting off Tabitha’s hand, and Edward’s betrayal of them in the interest of revenge upon Oswald. But he looked… different. He was _extremely_ pale, and his hair was actually white in color. Not only that, but he was _strong_. Butch had always been a heavy hitter, but launching a fully-grown man of into the air so hard he’d landed several yards away should have been beyond him. What had happened to Butch in the five months he’d been frozen?

The only conclusion he could make was that… _something_ happened. _Very astute, Edward._

“Butch?” Butch echoed, tilting his head.

“No, not Butch,” Apparently-Not-Butch said. Edward swallowed. Okay, that might be good for him.

“What’s your name?” Edward asked, feeling Owen start to stir.

“Don’t… know. I was… born on a Monday.” What an odd thing to say, although it did remind Edward of something…

“Like the rhyme!” Edward exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “ _Solomon Grundy, born on Monday_...” Not-Butch smiled at his singing, coming closer. 

“More song, please?” Well, Edward couldn’t resist an eager audience, much less a ‘please’.

 _“Solomon Grundy, born on a Monday, christened on Tuesday, married on Wednesday, took ill on Thursday, grew worse on Friday, died on Saturday, buried on Sunday. That was the end of Solomon Grundy._ ” Not-Butch clapped for him, and Edward took a little bow.

“Solomon Grundy,” Not-Butch repeated. “Solomon Grundy. Born on a Monday.”

“Edward,” Owen hissed, “What are you doing?”

“Listen, this could be an opportunity,” Edward said.

“’Pertunity,” Grundy echoed.

“Edward, you run and get help, I’ll keep an eye on this… _thing_ ,” Owen said, pushing to his feet. He shuffled, unsteady, and Edward leapt up to hold his arms.

“Did you see how strong he is?” Edward exclaimed. “He’s fascinating.”

“I felt it,” Owen snapped, “And it was terrifying.”

“Think of what he’d be like in the ring,” Edward said, still fixated on Grundy. “It would be quick cash, easy money. Easy money, Owen. Think about it.”

“He’s a freak and a monster,” Owen insisted. Edward frowned, noticing Grundy becoming agitated at his words. Edward let go of his arms, stepping away from him.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Edward told him. “Grundy?” His head snapped up, staring intently at Edward.

“Come with me.” Edward tuned on his heel and began to walk down the alleyway.

“Eddie, baby, wait a minute,” Owen wheedled, following them out onto the street. “This thing is not a pet.”

“He could be,” Edward said, marching determinedly onward. “And I’m not your ‘baby’.”

“Where are you going, anyways?” Owen asked. Edward halted in response.

“I’m… not sure.”

“You can still come back to my place, but _it’s_ not invited.” Edward smirked to himself, then adopted a more toned-down smile as he turned to face Owen. He stepped closer, looping his arms around Owen’s shoulders and leaning in close to speak directly into his ear.

“Well then,” Edward whispered, taking Owen’s earlobe between his teeth and tugging. Releasing it, he said, “No deal.”

“That’s just not fair,” Owen whined. “Alright, we can put it in the ring tomorrow and see what it’s got, but that’s it.”

“You won’t regret this,” Edward promised. “Lead the way.”

***

Owen’s apartment was small, especially with Edward’s new hulking friend inside, but it would do. Edward carefully cleaned Owen’s head wound for him, grateful for the quarters and his willingness to house Grundy. Afterwards, Edward immediately appropriated the shower, stepping out to find that at some point, Owen had left him an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. How considerate. Edward changed into them, noticing his carefully folded suit was absent. He’d have to have it dry-cleaned, whenever he got the chance. For now, Owen’s clothing was quite comfortable. Edward made a mental note to buy underwear, quickly second-guessing his ability to remember. Perhaps he should make use of a pen and paper, make a to-do list. Edward hadn’t ever utilized one, but it was what people did, wasn’t it?

He left the bathroom, deciding to seek out Owen for the necessary equipment. Grundy was seated in front of the television, watching cartoons. Edward smiled, then headed to where he’d spotted a small kitchen. He could smell food, perhaps Owen was cooking something. Inside, Owen was seated in front of an open pizza box.

“I went out while you were showering, help yourself,” Owen said.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Edward said, stealing a slice. He was ravenous, and it occurred to him that he hadn’t had anything of substance since leaving Myrtle’s apartment. He practically moaned at the taste.

“Someone’s hungry,” Owen remarked, smiling at him. His eyes practically twinkled. Edward nodded, his cheeks bulging. He swallowed.

“Did Grundy eat?” he asked, concerned. If Grundy was going to be of any use to him, he’d have to ensure he stayed healthy.

“Yeah, half the pizza,” Owen complained, gesturing at the box.

“He needs his strength for tomorrow,” Edward joked, leaning into Owen’s arm. Owen swallowed visibly.

“Edward, I’ve um… I only have the one bed, and the couch. I don’t know what your preferred sleeping arrangement would be—” Edward stood, holding out his hand. Owen took it, standing as well.

“You should show me your bedroom,” Edward said, “I want to see where I’ll be staying the night.” Owen smiled.

“Right this way,” Owen said, leading Edward by the hand past where Grundy was still absorbed by cartoons. Edward closed the door behind them and pulled Owen against him into a kiss, moaning when Owen pressed closer and took hold of his hips. Owen pushed him back against the door, pressing them firmly together. Edward broke the kiss.

“How comfortable is your bed?” he panted. Owen smirked, crouching suddenly and pulling Edward’s legs out from under him. Edward felt a moment of panic before realizing that Owen had lifted him, holding Edward under his thighs. He arranged his legs more securely around Owen’s waist, looping his arms around his shoulders to draw him into a kiss. Edward had an even steeper advantage of height now, using it to kiss Owen deeply as he drew Edward away from the wall and walked them to his bed. He gently laid Edward back, kissing him into the sheets.

“Comfortable?” Owen asked, breaking away and panting.

“Very,” Edward said, pulling him down for another kiss.

“Scoot back,” Owen said, crawling after Edward as they both moved into the center of the bed. Once there, Owen moved between his legs and on top of him, pressing Edward back into the mattress with the force of his kisses.

“You look so sexy in my shirt,” Owen groaned, nibbling across Edward’s jaw.

“Thank you,” Edward said, pulling Owen’s shirt up and running his hands along his bare back. Owen slipped a hand under Edward’s in turn, stroking over his side, his ribs. Edward giggled and pushed his hand away, not at all in the mood to be tickled. A crash from outside disrupted the moment. Owen practically launched himself off the bed and out of the door, gone in a flash. Edward blinked slowly, still processing the fact that Owen was not currently on top of him, kissing the daylights out of him. He slowly sat up and vacated the bed, following the path Owen had travelled moments before to the source of the noise.

“You can’t just take things, man,” Owen lectured, hands on his hips. Grundy was easily four inches taller than him, making it an… _interesting_ sight. Edward giggled, quickly covering his mouth with his hand. Grundy had clearly knocked over a pot raiding Owen’s cabinet.

“Why don’t you go to sleep?” Edward cut in, moving past Owen and taking Grundy's hand. “Come on.” Edward lead Grundy over to the couch, urging him to lie down and tugging the throw blanket over him. It was comically small, just like everything else compared to Grundy.

“There, get some sleep,” Edward said, turning to go. Grundy caught his wrist.

“Song?” Grundy asked. Edward felt oddly like he was tucking a child in for bed.

“Sure. Solomon Grundy?” Grundy nodded vigorously. “Alright. _Solomon Grundy, born on a Monday, christened on Tuesday, married on Wednesday, took ill on Thursday, grew worse on Friday, died on Saturday, buried on Sunday, that was the end, of Solomon Grundy._ ” Grundy settled down and closed his eyes, and Edward hit the light on the way out.

“He’s like a little kid,” Owen said, putting his arm around Edward’s waist as they walked back to the bedroom. “A very _big_ little kid.”

“We should sleep too, I’m exhausted,” Edward said, ducking under a kiss and pretending not to notice it. He really was far too tired for any other nocturnal activities, despite his earlier enthusiasm for it. Making his way to the bed, he pulled back the covers and climbed in, then took his glasses off and placed them on the night stand. Owen imitated him on the other side, then tugged Edward closer by the waist. He placed a gentle kiss on Edward’s temple and then moved away to lay down.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Owen. And thank you.” Edward fell asleep within minutes and rested well through the night. It was Owen who woke him up.

“Hey,” Owen said, pressing kisses to his cheek. “Get up, come on.”

“Five more minutes,” Edward groaned, pulling the blankets over his head. Owen pulled them back, pressing more kisses over his face.

“I need to open the gym, and you’re both coming with me.” Edward groaned, moving reluctantly from the comfort and warmth of the bed.

“Where’d you put my clothes?” Edward asked.

“I dropped them off at the dry cleaner yesterday,” Owen said, rooting through his dresser. “Here, come pick something out.” Edward was touched by the gesture. Owen had probably taken his clothes to the cleaner’s when he went out to get the pizza, now that he thought about it. He tapped Owen’s shoulder.

“Yeah—” Edward cut him off with a kiss, trying to pour as much gratitude in it as he could.

“Thank you,” Edward said, for good measure. Owen coughed.

“Yeah, um, no problem,” Owen said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. Edward rooted through his clothing. They were basically the same height, but Owen was much broader than him. He found a pale green shirt and laid it on the bed, then headed to Owen’s closet for a pair of slacks. Edward pushed his borrowed sweatpants down his legs, pulling the slacks up to replace them. Turning, he found Owen staring at him, mouth slightly agape. Edward flushed red, realizing that Owen had probably just seen _everything_ , thanks to his lack of underwear at the moment. A fact he’d forgotten, as well as the fact that Owen was still in the room. Owen abruptly went to the closet, pulling a belt free and handing it to him.

“Those are going to be loose on you… I’ll wait outside,” Owen said, a slight flush on his face. Edward pulled the t-shirt over his head, putting on the button-up. He tucked it into his slacks and then did the belt. Building up his courage, he sighed and went to the door. Owen was not waiting outside, so Edward closed the door and went to fetch his shoes. Realizing he didn’t have any socks, he went back to the bedroom, pulling the door open.

On the other side, Owen was shirtless. Edward froze, unable to help himself. He admired Owen’s build, his defined pectoral muscles and solid middle. Then he remembered that he should be _embarrassed_ , not staring, and averted his gaze.

“Like what you see?” Owen asked, gesturing at himself.

“Clearly,” Edward muttered. “I need socks.” Owen smirked and pointedly did _not_ put a shirt on, rummaging through his dresser and fetching a pair of black socks for Edward.

“Here,” he said, getting closer than strictly necessary, in Edward’s opinion. He swallowed.

“Thanks,” Edward said, mortified to find that his voice cracked. He fled the room, finding Grundy watching cartoons once more. Sitting beside him on the couch, Edward pulled his socks and shoes on. Owen emerged, blessedly dressed. It was a few blocks’ walk to the gym, and it didn’t take them more than five minutes. Owen opened the front with a set of keys, letting them inside.

“I just need to turn everything on, make sure the place is clean. Cherry and the Doc will be here in ten minutes.” _Lee_. Edward had forgotten he needed to see her this morning. It was a good thing Owen had dragged him along.

“I actually need to see her for testing this morning, so this worked out quite well,” Edward said, perching himself on a table.

“Testing?” Owen asked, curiously.

“IQ testing,” Edward said.

“Ah,” Owen said, clearly wanting to know more but too polite to pry. Edward preferred it that way.

“Grundy,” Edward called. “Come here.” The reanimated corpse of Butch Gilzean lumbered towards him. Edward walked to the ring, ducking awkwardly between the ropes to enter. Grundy followed.

“You’re going to fight in here,” Edward said gesturing around the ring. “Would you like that?”

“Why fighting?” Grundy asked, something that might be trepidation on his face.

“It’s fun!” Edward cheerfully replied. “And you can make money.”

“Money?”

“That’s right, big fella. Easy money for you, for me. Everyone wins.”

“I like winning,” Grundy said, and considering the losing streak they were both on, Edward could see why. The front door opened. Leslie Thompkins clicked into the room, high heels striking the concrete floor severely.

“Edward? How’d you get in here?” she demanded, eyeing him and Grundy suspiciously.

“With a key,” Edward replied. Lee opened her mouth, no doubt with some scathing accusation, and Owen butted in.

“I let him in, Doc. He, um— we—”

“We wanted to talk to Cherry about getting our friend here in the ring,” Edward interrupted, smiling. Lee did not need to know the details of their arrangement.

“Who’s that?” Lee asked.

“Solomon Grundy,” Grundy answered. “Born on a Monday.”

“Like the rhyme?” Lee asked critically.

“He’s a simple man,” Edward said.

“With one hell of an arm,” Owen added. “Trust me.”

“She’ll be here soon,” Lee said. “Edward, I want you to come with me. This test can sometimes take hours and I want to get started.” Edward followed her to the office, settling Grundy in the waiting room in front of a small television. He’d be happy there for some time. Lee asked him a series of questions, countless questions. At first, they were easy, but the questions grew progressively harder and Edward found himself slowing in his answers and becoming frustrated. He was asked to compare the differences in images and found his eidetic memory failing him, unable to recall the exact picture from before in his working memory for comparison. Through it all, Lee refrained from commenting.

Finally, she asked him to put together a jigsaw puzzle with three hundred pieces. Edward smirked to himself, knowing that a challenge like this should be no trouble at all to him, especially one with so few pieces. Instead, he found himself taking longer to search for pieces and fit them together than he ever had in his life. About halfway through the puzzle he convinced himself that Lee had set this challenge forth specifically to humiliate him, and grew so frustrated he began to cry against his will.

“What’s wrong, Edward?” Lee asked, ceasing her incessant _scribbling_ and speaking to him.

“This shouldn’t be taking me so long,” Edward said, wiping tears away on the sleeve of Owen’s shirt. “I should be done by now.”

“Getting upset will only make you take longer. I need you to calm down and finish. If it makes you feel any better, you’re still making better time than most people.”

“ _Most people_ ,” Edward lamented. “I should be the _best_ , hands down.” This was humiliating, and she’d done this on purpose, he knew she had.

“Finish the puzzle,” she said, a challenge. Edward worked furiously at it, trying to recall the shapes he needed and searching desperately for the pieces. Several times he convinced himself that the ones he needed were simply missing from the puzzle, his fingers growing clumsy as he pressed them together. When the puzzle was completed, he found that nothing had been missing after all, he just couldn’t picture it in his head the way he used to, rotating pieces at will and seeing if they’d work before ever having to try them. It was so much _slower_ this way, being forced to actually _try_ every piece before he could be sure they were correct.

“That’s it,” Lee said, clicking her pen. “How do you think you did?” Edward was already dreading the results. He _knew_ how he did.

“Terribly,” he said, rubbing at the lingering wetness under his eyes. He should have been able to control himself better, but the challenge of solving a puzzle had never been a, well, _challenge_ for him.

“Why is that?” Lee asked, clicking her pen again.

“I was too slow, and I should have had all the answers. Those visual-spatial questions should have been answered immediately, and I had to _think_ about them. And that puzzle was a _nightmare_ ,” Edward said, flopping back dramatically in his seat, arms crossed.

“You’re being way too hard on yourself. You’re still very high up in the first percentile. And you might have been slow to answer, but for the most part you were correct. I know that the puzzle upset you, but even with the interlude, you still completed it faster than anyone I’ve ever tested.” Lee’s words were slightly reassuring, but…

“That’s not good enough,” Edward said. “I’m supposed to be better than that. How do I get better at this? Like how I used to be.”

“Well,” Lee said, “You can exercise your brain just like any other muscle. You work at it. It might take time, but—”

“I need to be better _now_ ,” Edward said. “Is there some kind of treatment you can give me, or a pill, or—"

“There’s no pill to make you smarter,” Lee said. “And no treatment that’s immediate. I’m sorry. I know it’s a source of concern for you, but your brain is functioning above average, and I have other concerns regarding your mental health.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” Edward said, sitting up and uncrossing his arms to clench his fists on the arm rests. She was not going to psychoanalyze him, no way.

“Edward, there are two possibilities here. Either being frozen affected your brain and caused parts of it to die, or you are sabotaging yourself on a subconscious level. There’s only so much I can do with permanent brain damage, although the brain can be taught to make up for dead areas again. You still might never be the same. Now, when it comes to the psychological damage, it’s possible I can help you make a full recovery. I want you to consider allowing me to work on fixing both, because it would be in your best interest.” Edward considered this. There would be confidentiality if he talked to Lee. Assurance that no one would know. He could get help, he could get smart, and maybe… Maybe Lee could do something for his other issues as well.

“Alright,” Edward said. “But I don’t want to start today. I’m tired.” The IQ test had sapped him of his mental energy. Despite having a good night’s sleep, he wanted another nap.

“I understand. The more we meet, the more exercises I can give you. We should probably start off slow—”

“Can I come in tomorrow?” Edward asked. He’d rather push it, get better faster.

“I don’t see why not,” Lee answered hesitantly. Edward could tell she was concerned, but he didn’t care.

“Great! Same time?”

“That would be fine,” Lee said, her frown deepening.

“Well, this has been…” Not fun, that was for sure. Lee nodded understandingly. Edward bobbed his head once and swept through the door, eager to leave the claustrophobic space of her office.

“Grundy.” He rose and followed after Edward. Edward sought out Owen, finding him conveniently chatting with Cherry.

“You again,” she said, eyeing him up and down. She then gave Grundy the same treatment, a less hostile glint in her eye. That was a good sign.

“Me again,” Edward said, moving closer to Owen. “I have a proposition for you.”

“I get plenty of men propositioning me,” Cherry deadpanned. “What do you want?”

“I have a fighter here who’s going to take this place to the next level,” Edward schmoozed. “All you have to do is let him enter.”

“Why would I do that?” Cherry said. “I’ve got a good line-up here, everyone’s happy with the way things are.”

“Trust me,” Edward said, “He’ll be a real crowd pleaser. I’m just asking for one chance to prove that to you.” Cherry frowned critically.

“One match,” Cherry said. “If I don’t like it, that’s the end of it.”

“That’s all we’ll need,” Edward said. Cherry walked over to a nearby bulletin board, unhooking a clipboard from it.

“I’ll put you on at seven tonight,” Cherry said. “Who should I say is fighting?”

“Solomon Grundy, born on a Monday,” Grundy answered earnestly.

“ _Right_ ,” Cherry said, drawing the word out with no small measure of disbelief and jotting it down. “Seven. Be ready.”

“He was born ready,” Edward assured her. “Thank you.”

“Born on a _Monday_ ,” Grundy corrected him.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, moving on to other, probably more important matters.

“I think she likes you,” Owen said. “Or Grundy.”

“What makes you say that?” Edward asked.

“She didn’t kick you out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be another chapter posted a little later. Mostly because I want to get ahead of Grundy's debut before Gotham does. What are you enjoying about this so far? What are you hating? The comment button gives you the opportunity to vent your love or your frustrations. Hit me with 'em.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solomon has his first round in the ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIGHT CLUB. Also, the rating will go way up next chapter.

Owen had given Edward a spare key, giving Edward freedom to do whatever he wanted for the rest of the day, or at least until tonight’s match. Edward took Grundy with him to pick up his dry cleaning before returning to the apartment, where Grundy planted himself in front of the television once more to watch old cartoons. Edward left his dry-cleaning in the bedroom, then made the two of them grilled cheese. He set up a tv-tray in front of Grundy, placing his sandwich gently on it. Grundy inhaled it in under a minute, eyeing the rest of Edward’s sandwich afterwards.

“I’ll make you another,” Edward promised, daintily finishing his grilled cheese. On the screen, a cartoon wrestler picked up his opposition, spinning him over his head and launching him across the ring. Grundy laughed. Edward finished his sandwich, heading back to the kitchen to make him another. He served Grundy his second sandwich, then returned to make a final one for Owen.

Edward washed up, dressing in his newly cleaned suit and styling his hair with some gel Owen had. He was certain the other man wouldn’t mind. They head back to the gym, though it would be a few more hours before Grundy would have to fight. Edward wanted him to observe, maybe he’d pick up a few things. He pushed the door open, navigating through the heavier crowd that was gathering to find Owen. Grundy followed closely behind him, and it occurred to Edward that it would be much easier for Grundy to plow through and find Owen than he was currently managing. He huffed, dodging another patron. Finally, he spotted Owen.

“Owen!” he called, moving towards him. Owen looked around for the source, doing a double take upon seeing Edward and looking him up and down, mouth slightly agape.

“You look…” Owen said, trailing off.

“Good?” Edward guessed, doing a little twirl.

“Gorgeous." Edward halted in his tracks, letting Owen pull him into a kiss as he tried to process the compliment. He decided he liked it at around the same time Owen brought his tongue into play. He went to put his arms around Owen, suddenly remembering that he had something to give him in hand and breaking the kiss.

“I brought you lunch,” Edward said, putting the sandwich between them like a barrier. Owen looked put-out for a moment, then smiled widely.

“Thanks, gorgeous,” he reiterated, pressing a soft yet firm kiss to Edward’s lips and taking the paper bag from him. Edward’s eyes fluttered open, leaving him wondering when they’d shut. 

“I’m, uh, gonna watch a few matches with Grundy,” Edward said. “You’re working all night?”

“Until midnight,” Owen said.

“I’ll buy you dinner after Grundy demolishes the competition,” Edward promised.

“Looking forward to it,” Owen smirked. “I’ll going to go do weight training with some of our guys, don’t get into any trouble.”

“Not until seven,” Edward assured him.

“I’ll be sure to watch.”

***

Edward watched three hours’ worth of fighting with Grundy , who looked incredibly bored with the proceedings. Edward was in awe of their raw strength, how some of the fighters were clever enough to take down their opponents by targeting week points continually over time. It was an effective strategy. He snapped at Grundy several times to pay attention, wanting him to get the gist of what he was getting into.

Someone came up behind him and grabbed his hips, pressing in close. Edward jumped, realizing after a moment that it was just Owen.

“That was an excellent grilled cheese,” Owen remarked. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Edward said, turning his head to accept a kiss from him. “We’re up soon.”

“I know, that’s why I came,” Owen said. “Think he’s ready?”

“I don’t think any of these guys can handle him,” Edward replied. The final bell rang for the fighters, and the judges began to finalize their scores. It was the last boxing match of the night, the no-holds-barred street fighting beginning at seven. Edward questioned the wisdom on Cherry’s part of opening with a novice, but he didn’t run the place. If he did, he’d have done away with their dull announcer first thing. Speak of the devil…

“Evening, folks,” the man declared, lackluster. Edward was already bored. “Tonight, we’ve got a newcomer by the name of Sol-Solomon Grundy. Let’s give him a hand, folks.” It sounded as though he wanted them to do anything _but_. Edward turned to look at Grundy, who appeared to just be confused. He needed a better introduction than that. On impulse, Edward left Owen’s embrace and climbed into the ring, snatching the microphone from him. His performance just could not be tolerated any longer.

“Ladies, gentleman, and variations thereof,” Edward drawled into the mic. The attention to the crowd snapped to him— probably due to the interruption of the normally dull voice coming over the speakers— and he luxuriated in it. This was much better. “Tonight! Tonight, it is my utmost pleasure to present to you a man stronger than Gotham has ever known, a man who is guaranteed to entertain. Making his way into the ring...” He prepared himself, effecting a tone like the announcers his father used to watch.

“Solomon Grundy!” Edward finished, drawing out the vowel sounds and changing his pitch and tone to create excitement. Gesturing with both hands, he directed the crowd’s attention to where Grundy was standing with Owen. Some of the crowd gasped, finally noticing the giant among them and his strange appearance. He passed the mic back to the official announcer, swinging over the ropes to the sound of cheers as Grundy entered the ring. Owen caught him around the waist as he jumped down.

“Jeff is gonna be pissed you stole his thunder,” Owen warned, pulling Edward closer. Edward put a hand to his mouth and feigned shock.

“He has thunder?” Edward stage whispered. “I had no idea.”

“Excuse me,” said a clipped and familiar voice from behind him. Edward spun out of Owen’s hold to face them. It was Cherry, an amused smirk playing on her lips. “I don’t think giving you a position here was part of the deal.”

“No, of course not—” Edward said, putting his hands out placatingly.

“But it could be,” Cherry finished. “How does that sound?”

“That sounds… great,” Edward said, unable to retrieve a better adjective in his surprise. In the ring, Jeff had just finished announcing one of the regulars. He made his way out to wait near the judges.

“Excellent, you start now. Jeff!” Cherry called, waving him over. Edward turned back to Owen, panic setting in.

“What am I supposed to do?” Edward asked. He wasn’t sure precisely what this job entailed.

“Just to introduce the fighters, announce any rules for the fight, and then announce the winner at the end.” Well, that sounded simple enough. Edward turned his attention to the referee in the ring, who was getting ready to begin the fight. He called it, and Grundy collided with his competition, a solid sound of impacting flesh and muscle following. Edward cringed despite himself.

“Should I go over to the scorekeepers?” Edward asked.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Owen responded, taking hold of Edward’s hand and pulling him through the steadily gathering crowd. They finally made it to the table, heads snapping up as a collective roar went through the crowd.

Grundy was holding his opponent overhead, steadily beginning to spin him like something out of a cartoon. Edward gasped and then smiled, delighted by his good fortune. Oh, easy money indeed. He threw his opponent into the ropes so hard he _bounced back_ , finishing the move by clotheslining him. The crowd screamed and pushed forward in exhilaration, the density increasing around the ring to watch the fight. The referee called it just as Grundy went to pick his prone and unmoving opponent up again. Edward suddenly realized that the fight wasn’t finished in Grundy's mind, and he raced to climb up the ropes and scream over the din of the crowd.

“Grundy, that’s enough!” Grundy paused, hands outstretched, then straightened. Edward didn’t have to wait for the judges to call it, this match was a clear victory. Forgoing the mic, Edward climbed into the ring and took hold of Grundy's wrist. He lifted his hand, soaking in the roar of the crowd as he projected his voice and declared, “The victor… _Solomon Grundy!_ ”

The people roared and stomped, cheering for the feat of strength Grundy had demonstrated. Edward couldn’t have imagined this night going better. Owen smiled up at him from the crowd. Suddenly, Grundy put his arm down and crouched, pushing his shoulder up under Edward’s backside and continuing to rise in one smooth motion. All at once, Edward found himself perched on Grundy's shoulder as he stood at his full height. For a moment he felt trepidation, unsure whether Grundy might drop him. The fear passed quickly, and he used the opportunity to hype up the crowd again, waving his arms up and down. It was exhilarating. The cheers crescendoed in volume again, and Edward taped Grundy's shoulder. To his surprise, Grundy caught his meaning and put him down. Edward smiled at him and patted his shoulder in thanks.

“Grundy did good?” Grundy asked him.

“Grundy did _very_ good,” Edward assured him, climbing out of the ring again. He was swarmed with attention, people asking where Grundy was from, whether he’d be back to fight again.

“You’ll have to take that up with Cherry,” Edward said, avoiding the first question and encouraging them to ask Cherry to bring him back all in one. Grundy left the ring behind him. There were thirty minutes between this fight and the next, and Edward did not want to be in the middle of this many people. Owen was waiting right next to the ring, and Edward took hold of his hand and Grundy's, pushing through the crowd. He went into Lee’s office, the perfect pretext for his visit forming in his mind.

“Hi, is the Doctor in?” Edward asked, addressing the stone-faced receptionist.

“She’s busy with the guy he,” she pointed to Grundy as he settled in front of the television, “just pummeled.”

“That’s what I’m here about,” Edward said, smiling. “How is he?”

“No idea,” she said, reclining back in her chair. “Take a seat.”

“You’re going to have to announce the next match, Eddie,” said Owen. “Do you even know the schedule for tonight?”

“No, but it’s all basically the same thing,” Edward said. “It’ll be fine.”

“I have to get back out there, don’t give Cherry a reason to be pissed at you first thing,” Owen warned. He leaned forward and kissed Edward, then left.

“You don’t talk much,” Edward said, turning to Grundy. “I wonder what goes on in that skull of yours.” He poked Grundy in the forehead, smiling.

“Cute,” Grundy said, poking him firmly back. Edward recalled with startling clarity the time that Butch had called him that, wondering how much it was that Grundy truly remembered. The less, the better.

“Ed?” Lee called, stepping into the room. “What do you want?”

“Just a minute of your time, doctor. How is your patient?” Edward said, walking past her and the receptionist to the hallway, looking for an empty room. He gestured into one, waiting for Lee to slowly enter while casting him suspicious glances. Edward closed the door behind them.

“He’ll recover,” she said. “What’s this about?”

“I want to know, specifically, why you’re helping me. You said I’d be helping you, but you haven’t put me to any tasks yet. What do you want from me?” Edward said. He didn’t really have much time for this conversation, but it had been bothering him, and a half hour seemed like enough. The exhilaration from the fight had reinvigorated him after the exhaustion of the morning. Lee pondered his question for a moment.

“I want you to get better,” Lee said. “I want you to be rehabilitated. I remember who you were at the GCPD, Edward, and that was a good guy. You can be him again.”

“No, I can’t,” Edward said, “and that guy was a loser.” Lee shook her head.

“You’re right, I should phrase that differently. You and I are the same, Edward. We started out wanting to help people, and instead we’ve hurt them. Because of that, who we are has been irreversibly changed. But that doesn’t mean that what we initially chose to do has to change with us. I’m choosing to help people again, and that’s what I want you to do. You’re incredibly intelligent, Edward. Once I get you back to peak mental performance, I want you to use that for good. That’s what I want from you. A reformation.” Edward considered this explanation, wondering if Lee realized that she’d given away a great deal about what she’d done by calling them ‘the same’. It was a strange admission, and one he couldn’t ignore. But what she was asking…

“I’m a villain,” Edward stated plainly. “I’m a bad person. I hurt people, I play games with them. I hate the GCPD and everyone in it. You’re asking the impossible.”

“In exchange for my help, I’m asking that you reconsider that position. Whoever the Riddler is, whoever you were trying to be by becoming him… believe me when I tell you that he is not the best version of yourself. He’s just the most dangerous version.”

“He’s stronger than me,” Edward said. “I want to be him again.”

“He was _alone_ , Edward,” Lee countered. “Alone and compulsive. Were you truly happy?” _No._

“Yes,” Edward hissed, “I didn’t need anyone. I was _free_.”

“You weren’t free, Edward, you were just as trapped as ever. But if you truly believe that, then I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“No!” Edward exclaimed. Lee blinked at him. “No, maybe… Maybe you’re right. What are your terms?”

“I’m going to help you recover to the point of being fully functioning again, at which time you will use your remarkable intelligence to do good. I don’t care if you humiliate the GCPD, the mayor, hell, the _president_ in the process. You can have all the fun you want with it, but ultimately, you will _help_ people. Do we have a deal?” Edward swallowed. There was no rule here that he couldn’t do things his way, only that the outcome be good. He never particularly enjoyed hurting people anyways, only the thrill of getting one over on them. What was he losing by agreeing to this? Nothing, only the risk of eventually breaking this promise to Lee by hurting someone, which he doesn’t currently plan on doing anyways.

“Deal,” Edward concluded.

“I think this is going to be the start of something very good for you, Edward,” Lee said, standing. She put a hand on his shoulder. “We can help each other be good again.” _I never was good; how can I be good again?_

“Whatever you say, Doc.”

***

The rest of the night passed relatively quickly. Edward did more work announcing, and Cherry shot him a thumbs-up after every opening. The other matches took far longer than Grundy had, and Edward ran into Emmett during one.

“Edward!” he called. “You look good!”

“Thank you,” Edward said. “I feel better.”

“Did Owen take care of you last night?” Edward blushed furiously. Oh, if only he knew.

“He did. Showed me around the club, told me a bit of the history—”

“Oh, I know way more about that than he does,” Emmett said. “You should come over tomorrow for lunch and a cup of coffee.”

“I’d like that,” Edward smiled, feeling something warm and unusual taking root in his chest. Hands grabbed him from behind and a kiss was pressed to his cheek.

“What are you up to, gor— Dad?” Owen said, eyes going wide. He took his hands off Edward, putting a two feet of space between him. Emmett crossed his arms.

“When I told you to show this nice young man a good time, I didn’t mean like that,” Emmett scolded.

“I was not an unwilling participant,” Edward said. Owen pointed at him accusatorily.

“That’s very true,” he said. Edward rolled his eyes. Oh, what people wouldn’t say or do for their fathers’ approval.

“Well, I expect you both for lunch tomorrow, then. Didn’t I raise you right, Owen?”

“Yes, dad,” Owen said sheepishly.

“Could have at least bought him dinner first,” Emmett said.

“He did, if that’s any consolation,” Edward said. Emmett looked between the two of them and sighed.

“You kids these days move too fast; I’m too old for this.” He huffed loudly, then shuffled off into the crowd.

“That was so embarrassing,” Owen said, staring off into the middle distance. He looked like he’d just stared Death in the face, only for Death to tell him, ‘Tomorrow’.

“It could have been worse,” Edward said, surprised by Emmett’s level of calm. If his father had caught him… he shuddered. That didn’t matter, now.

“Well, it was my fault, anyways.”

“Yes, it was,” Edward said. Owen made a sound of annoyance and kissed him. Grundy tugged at Edward’s sleeve.

“Home?” he asked, looking between Edward and Owen.

“I’m done at midnight,” Owen said.

“The last match ends before then, obviously,” Edward said. “I’ll make something for a… late dinner?”

“Sounds amazing,” Owen said. The rest of the night passed quickly, and Cherry pulled him to the side after the final match, handing him a roll of cash.

“You did great, but I was wondering how you’d feel about another outfit…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, rating is going up next chapter. How did you like Grundy's debut? I can't wait to see what Gotham has in store tonight. Any other comments are also very welcome!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward experiments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE RATING HAS GONE UP AND WITH GOOD REASON.

Edward and Grundy arrived back at Owen’s apartment around eleven thirty, and Edward cooked a simple pasta dish. Grundy could use the carbs. He finished up around midnight, and just as he and Grundy were settling in to eat, Owen returned.

“Smells great,” he said, kissing Edward’s temple and sitting down beside him.

“Tastes better,” Grundy grunted, shoving another messy forkful in his mouth.

“Did Cherry say anything to you about Grundy?” Edward said, putting his fork down.

“I thought that was a given. He’s on the roster, hands down. There hasn’t been that much excitement there in ages, since Phil went pro, actually,” Owen replied, twirling spaghetti onto his fork. He put the forkful into his mouth, humming with approval. “This is really good.”

“Thank you,” Edward said. That made four victories for tonight. He had secured a well-paying job he enjoyed, finally uncovered Lee’s reason for helping him, ensured his income further by getting Grundy a gig prize fighting, and topped it off with a nice meal. Owen reached across the table and covered his hand, brushing his thumb carefully over Edward’s knuckles. It didn’t hurt. 

“You’re gonna to have to announce the boxing matches tomorrow, too. It’s pretty much the same though, you’ll be fine.” Edward switched to eating with his left hand, finding himself completely uncoordinated with it. When he was younger, he’d trained himself to be ambidextrous, but now… The discovery crushed his mood.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He slipped his hand from under Owen’s so he could finish eating, miserably shoving spaghetti in his mouth. Owen’s brows knit in concern, but he left it alone. Edward stood and served Grundy another bowlful, bringing his own to the sink.

“I’ve got it, you should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.” Edward let the bowl crash obnoxiously into the sink. He wanted Owen to ask about it, and he would pout and be miserable until he did, despite how childish it objectively was. Edward raided Owen’s clothing for sweats and a t-shirt, changing into them. He cursed. He was supposed to buy underwear, dammit, why couldn’t he do anything _right_? He slumped over to the bed, throwing his glasses onto the nightstand and collapsing on top of it, suddenly finding himself too exhausted to even pull the sheets back. Edward curled into a ball and remained there, waiting for Owen to pick up on how miserable he was.

Owen entered quietly. Edward could hear him opening the dresser doors slowly to make less noise, the soft sounds of clothing shifting. He waited until Owen got to the bed to roll over and face him, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” Owen asked, climbing into bed to lay next to him and putting a hand on Edward’s shoulder.

He couldn’t do it anymore. Edward sobbed abruptly, everything that had happened to him bubbling over. He crammed himself into Owen’s chest and just cried and cried. The floodgates had opened, and he couldn’t pull them shut. Owen made soothing sounds and didn’t try to make him speak again, and for that Edward was grateful. Eventually, he was able to calm down.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Owen asked, voice mellow and undemanding.

“It’s about the reason I see Lee,” Edward said, feeling more forthcoming with the knowledge that he didn’t _have_ to tell him. “I have brain damage. Before this happened to me, I was a certifiable _genius_. I was _brilliant_. Now I forget things, and I can’t do what I used to be able to do. No matter how many victories I have, something as simple as forgetting to go shopping reminds me of how much _lesser_ I am now.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. You don’t deserve that kind of talk. Now, I don’t know about _genius_ , but you’re still pretty damn clever. And I might not have known the guy you were before, but _this_ guy,” he said, drying the tears from Edward’s face and pushing his mussed hair back from it, “this guy is pretty amazing.” His words elicited a small smile from Edward. He hadn’t known his mood could crash so rapidly, was his inability to control his emotions a side effect of the brain damage? His smile dimmed.

“You should have known me before,” Edward said quietly.

“I like who you are _now_ ,” Owen said. “What happened?” Edward hadn’t prepared for this lie. How was he supposed to tell Owen that his ex was actually his ex-friend, Kingpin of Crime Oswald Cobblepot, who’d frozen him in ice for five months? He’d already played along too far to go back now. His words failed him.

“I… my-my ex— he, um. Well, obviously, we fought—” Owen took pity on him and interrupted.

“I figured,” Owen said, anger flickering over his features. He did?

“You… you figured?” Edward asked.

“He hurt your hand, it wasn’t a far stretch to think he might have hurt you in other ways. I’m sorry about what happened to you, Ed. No one should have to go through that kind of relationship.” _Oh, if only you knew._

“Thanks,” Edward said, mostly grateful for the fact that Owen didn’t find it necessary for him to explain. He wasn’t sure he _could_ explain it convincingly. Most likely, Owen assumed that at some point, his ex had subjected him to a severe head injury. Not needing details spared Edward the struggle of inventing them.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Owen suggested, lifting himself to pull the covers from under them. Edward pressed a hand to his chest on a whim. 

“I don’t want to sleep, yet.” He moved so he was straddling Owen as he laid on his back, slowly leaning down to kiss him. Owen did not kiss back. Edward pulled away, embarrassed. Obviously Owen wouldn’t want him after _that_ little display.

“Are you sure?” Owen asked, throwing Edward for a loop. Of course he was sure, it was Owen who wasn’t. Or… oh. Perhaps he should take this at face value. Owen might actually just be worried that _Edward_ didn’t truly desire this.

“I’m very sure,” Edward assured him, leaning back down into another kiss. This time, Owen reciprocated. At this point, he had more experience kissing Owen than he ever had Kristen or Isabella. But there were other things they had yet to do that he was curious about. Even now, he was enjoying the new sensation of having narrow hips between his thighs. Edward put his arms around Owen’s shoulders, pulling him to sit up. He shifted, wrapping his legs around Owen’s waist and pressing himself closer. Owen hummed in approval, sliding his hands down to Edward’s ass. Edward moaned. Oh, that was excellent. He _liked_ that.

Edward slid his hands up under the back of Owen’s shirt, feeling the muscles in his shoulders shift as he changed his hold on Edward, slipping a hand up the front of his shirt in turn. Owen pressed his warm palm over Edward’s stomach, rucking Edward’s shirt up as he ran his fingers up higher, brushing over his nipple. Edward gasped, shuddering in Owen’s lap. The shift in position brought another new element to being with a man to Edward’s attention: he could feel Owen’s hard-on pressing into his ass. He smirked, pleased to be causing such a reaction so soon.

“What are you smiling about?” Owen whispered, pushing his hands down the back of Edward’s sweatpants. The smirk was wiped from Edward’s face as he moaned, hips bucking instinctually into Owen. Having someone’s hands on his bare cheeks was a new experience, and it was _thrilling_. Heat pooled in Edward’s belly.

“This,” Edward said, countering Owen’s seduction by putting his hand between them and caressing Owen’s cock through his shorts.

“Shit,” Owen whispered, pressing his face into Edward’s neck. “Why aren’t you wearing underwear?”

“Forgot to buy some,” Edward said casually, pressing his palm to Owen’s abs and sliding his finger beneath the waistband of his shorts and underwear to take hold of him. He pulled his cock free, stroking the head of it with his thumb experimentally.

“Oh sh-shit,” Owen moaned. He moved one hand to the front of Edward’s sweats, pushing his hand down in a mimicry of what Edward had done moments before. Edward whimpered, pressing desperately into the touch. Owen pressed them closer, keeping his hand on Edward’s ass. Edward used the arm he had around Owen’s shoulders for leverage, working his hips into Owen’s hand. It felt _so_ good.

“Wait a minute,” Owen said.

“No,” Edward replied, kissing him hot and open-mouthed.

“Just a second,” Owen bargained, and Edward let him go, reluctantly unwrapping his legs from Owen’s waist. Owen went into his nightstand, retrieving a bottle of lubricant. Edward laid back on the bed, feeling his breathing pick up at just the sight of it. He wasn’t sure he was ready for everything Owen might have in mind.

“Can I take your pants off?” Owen asked, putting his hands on the waistband of Edward’s sweatpants. It was somewhat of a silly question, given that his cock was already sticking out of them, but Edward nodded hesitantly regardless. Owen pulled them down his legs, throwing them onto the floor once they were off. He discarded his shorts and underwear in a similar fashion, pressing a kiss Edward’s knee and then moving between his legs.

“Is this okay?” Owen asked, waiting for Edward to nod again. He kissed him gently, carefully lowering himself on top of Edward so their bodies were flush. Edward felt like all the breath had been knocked out of him, and it wasn’t just from Owen’s solid weight on top of him.

“I’ve never been with a man,” Edward blurted, feeling heat rise to his face at the admission.

“Are you a virgin?” Owen asked, eyes widening. He moved to get off Edward, and Edward instinctively found himself reaching up to keep Owen against him. Edward wasn’t sure precisely what he wanted, but he did know that he liked having Owen pressed against him.

“No, just women,” Edward clarified. Owen visibly relaxed, then confusion came over his face.

“What about your ex?” Edward decided that the truth would probably make the best lie.

“He wasn’t interested in sex,” Edward explained. Owen nodded understandingly.

“Do you… is there anything you want to do?” Owen asked.

“I… _don’t_ want to have penetrative sex. Right now. Not yet. I just mean that I’m not ready for that… at the moment. Sorry,” Edward rambled, trying desperately not to hurt Owen’s feelings. He _liked_ Owen. He didn’t want to offend him.

“Hey, that’s okay,” Owen said, kissing Edward softly. “Some guys don’t like it at all, it’s not something you have to do.”

“Do you like it?” Edward asked, wondering if Owen would secretly resent him for withholding sex. Maybe he was only pretending to be alright with the decision now and would push him on it later. What would he do then?

“Not really, I prefer to top. But,” Owen said, kissing over Edward’s cheekbone, “I like making my partner feel good even more.” Edward swallowed.

“What would make you feel good?” Owen asked, moving to kiss his temple. “Would you be interested in doing it if you were topping?” Edward’s eyes widened. Well, that offer made it difficult to doubt his sincerity. Edward considered it, but he’d meant what he said before. He wasn’t ready to take that step with Owen. It was too intimate, and he’d only known him for two days. Even his willingness to go this far was noteworthy.

“Not yet,” Edward said. “Can we do what we were doing before? I enjoyed that.”

“Sure, baby,” Owen said. “That’s what I got this for.” He squeezed lube onto his hand, then wrapped it around Edward’s cock. Edward jumped at the initial chill, but after a few strokes the warm grip of Owen’s hand around him felt _divine_. So divine he forgot that he’d previously told Owen not to call him ‘baby’. Edward fumbled for the lube, coating his own hand and pulling at Owen’s length. Owen groaned above him, pressing kisses along his jaw.

“Is this good?” Edward asked, stroking Owen slowly from base to tip.

“You’re doing great,” Owen panted, kissing Edward’s throat. Edward moaned at the sensation, his noises of pleasure growing louder as Owen picked up on the sensitivity of his neck and began licking over his collarbones and Adam’s apple, pressing kisses along the side. Owen released his cock, taking Edward by the wrist and pulling him off his own. Edward whined, reaching for him, Owen smothering his sounds of displeasure with another kiss. He pressed their stomachs together, sliding his hardness against Edward’s belly. Edward gasped at the hot friction as his own member slid through the lube between their stomachs, their hard cocks meeting in the slippery warmth as Owen thrust against him. Edward drew his legs up and wound them around Owen’s waist once more, pulling Owen tighter against him as they began to move together, to take pleasure in one another.

Suddenly, Owen rolled them. He moved back so he could lean against the headboard, still far enough away to avoid crushing Edward’s legs. Both hands moved down to cup Edward’s ass again, encouraging him to keep up their rhythm from before with the roll of his hips. _Just like that, yes—_

“Just like before,” Owen said, drawing Edward against him. Edward wasn’t sure why, but having Owen’s large, warm hands on his backside was _doing_ things to him. Earlier, he’d assumed it was because of the novelty of the sensation, having been the first time anyone had ever touched him like that. However, he no longer had the luxury of that excuse. Owen’s hands squeezed his cheeks and drew him closer, and Edward stuttered in his rhythm. It felt unreasonably good to be manhandled. He kissed Owen again, frantically pushing his cock between their stomachs.

“I’m close,” Edward whispered, mortification beginning to wash over him. He couldn’t come so soon. Owen stilled the motion of his hips and reached between them, taking Edward in hand. Edward’s hips stuttered into his hand and he practically jumped from the sudden change, Owen’s cock falling from the press of their stomachs to rest between his legs. Edward felt his hardness pressing hot and heavy into the crease of his ass, his mouth watering as he wondered what it would be like to taste it. What it would be like to hold Owen’s length in his mouth as Owen used him, fucked his face and came hard down the back of his throat. Would Owen pull his hair? He thought he might like that. Better yet, what would it feel like inside of him? Owen was not a small man, and neither was that element of his anatomy. Edward felt a flash of desire, a desire to feel every inch of Owen pressing inside of him. He pictured Owen holding him down and in place as he squirmed, impaled on his cock. Owen, pushing him face-down into the mattress with a fist in his hair, taking him hard and fast and leaving his ass abused and leaking his release.

“Oh g-gosh.” The picture was enough to send him over the edge, crying out as his hips stuttered into Owen’s hand and he came hard over his belly. Owen kissed over his face, telling him he was gorgeous. He rolled them, putting Edward underneath him and kissing him deeply while Edward desperately tried to catch his breath. The kissing was not making that task easy, but Edward didn’t mind it terribly.

“I want you to finish,” Edward panted, his thighs still shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“I’m going to do something you’ve definitely never experienced, but I promise you it’s not penetrative sex. It just seems like it’s going to be.” Edward nods.

“That’s fine,” Edward said.

“Turn over onto your stomach.” Edward obeyed, his sensitive cock twitching against the sheets. He heard the lube being opened, and then Owen’s hands were on his thighs, spreading it there. “Keep your legs together.”

Edward pressed his thighs together and waited, resting his face on his crossed arms. Owen moved on top of him, and pushed his cock between Edward’s legs. Oh, he got it now. Owen thrust slowly at first, grunting and picking up the pace before long. He pressed kisses to Edward’s back and shoulders as he pounded between his legs. Edward held still, loving every sound that Owen made. Sounds he was making because of Edward. If this is what sex would him would be like… Edward could see himself coming around on the subject. 

“Oh, fuck,” Owen said. He stopped suddenly, pulling himself from between Edward’s legs and taking himself in hand. Edward pushed up onto his elbow to watch as Owen stroked himself rapidly, grunting as his release began coating Edward’s ass and the small of his back. With his other hand he pulled at Edward’s cheek to expose his hole, some of his come landing in the crease of his ass and dribbling down over his entrance. Edward marveled at the sensation, the feeling of having someone else’s release spattered over his backside. Owen finished stroking himself, crawling over Edward’s prone form to kiss him, his softening cock finding the crease of his ass again and gently rubbing there as Owen’s tongue swept into his mouth.

Edward felt like he was glowing, the rush of endorphins from the sex and subsequent affection making him giddy. He turned onto his back to kiss Owen more firmly. Unfortunately, Owen’s once warm release rapidly cooled on his skin and became uncomfortable. He regretfully pushed Owen back.

“I want to shower,” Edward said, kissing him briefly.

“Can I join you?” Owen requested, nuzzling into the side of his neck. He kissed Edward slow and deep, running his hands up under his shirt and over his sides. Edward giggled at the tickling sensation this produced, and pushed him away.

“I’d prefer to shower alone,” Edward said. Owen kissed his cheek and flopped onto his back.

“Have fun.” Edward chuckled and moved to the edge of the bed, standing on shaky legs and stumbling.

“Careful, Bambi,” Owen said. Edward scowled at him and wobbled his way to the dresser for a clean shirt and pajama bottoms, retreating into the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edward is finally exploring his sexuality safely god blessss. Well, he's still lying to Owen like he lied to Kristen, but we're not gonna talk about that for a few chapters. I'll just say that it's going to be a learning experience/teachable moment for him, since APPARENTLY what happened to Kristen wasn't enough incentive to be truthful in the future (i.e. seemingly intending to never tell Isabella about her).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations are made, Edward and Lee talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edward is moving through his identity crisis slowly, but just to recap, in his last talk with Lee he realized he was pretty unhappy overall during his time as the Riddler and also completely alone. Any other realizations first stem from the acceptance of this initial one.

The shower was cleansing, and Edward simply could not shake the sense that he was becoming someone new. Being removed from Oswald, creating an identity separate from him… it was liberating. True, he was not as sharp as he once was, but his brain could recover. It could be retaught. He didn’t have to be that person right now. He’d always been more than capable of wholeheartedly devoting himself to a goal, and that hadn’t changed. He simply had a more challenging goal ahead of him, with his own brain being the _obstacle_ rather than the _key_ to his success for the first time. Yet there was no longer a doubt in his mind he could the same man— no, a _better_ man than he had been before. Alright, so he’d lost the part of himself which was at the core of his identity... he could admit that stung.

All his life had been a struggle to prove to everyone that he really was intelligent. He didn’t know what it was about himself, his mannerisms, that caused people to doubt that. His parents had been the first to disbelieve him, the accusations of cheating and lying following him up until he had finally escaped their control. In college he’d had recognition for his brilliance, he’d received awards for his publications, and then he’d been hired at the GCPD. Officers there rarely thanked him for his contributions, and while it wasn’t necessary, it would have been _nice_. He often went out of his way to help them, and as the lone forensic of a crime-ridden city like Gotham, that meant something. His caseload was beyond unreasonable. It should have been impossible for a single person to take on. But he’d done it. He’d done better than just doing it. Edward had gone above and beyond, and for what?

Then there was Oswald… Oh, what Edward wouldn’t have done for that man. Looking back, he realized how idiotic it had been for him to give his life over to such a sadistic criminal. What had he gotten for his troubles, after everything he did for him? Oswald had stolen love away from him, manipulated him, and mocked him. He’d had him beaten, had him frozen and humiliated him. Most importantly, he had stolen the defining aspect of Edward’s identity from him. Edward couldn’t care _less_ about being the Riddler right now, particularly after his enlightening conversation with Leslie. What _did_ matter to him— what was _essential_ to his sense of worth and self-esteem— was how intelligent he was. If he could get that back…

Edward realized he’d been in the shower for some time. He quickly finished up, dressing and heading back to bed. Owen was conked out and snoring loudly, but still Edward tiptoed over so as not to disturb him, carefully lifting the sheets and climbing inside. He slept soundly, not waking until Owen roused him.

“Let’s go sleeping beauty,” Owen said, pulling the covers off of him. Edward grunted and grabbed for his glasses. He didn’t usually sleep for so long, this was the second time Owen had needed to wake him. Normally, his internal clock would make sure he was up well before— he checked the alarm— ten o’clock! Either this was a sign his brain was repairing itself as he slept, or it was another side effect of being frozen. He’d have to take it up with Lee.

Edward stretched and went to the kitchen. Owen had gone into the shower, leaving him to decide whether or not there was time for breakfast. Yesterday, Owen had roused him right before they needed to leave, and there hadn’t been a decision to make. His stomach rumbled and decided for him. Edward made sure he had the necessary ingredients, looking to see if there was enough maple syrup to make pancakes a worthwhile venture. Check.

He heated the pan while he prepared the mix to save on time, and before long he was pouring the batter and then going to collect Grundy from his morning cartoons.

“Do you want pancakes?” Edward asked, already knowing the answer.

“Pancakes?” Grundy asked, a kind of childish excitement coming over him as he scrambled to get into the kitchen.

“Sit down,” Edward said. It was now fifteen minutes past, and he was flipping the first two pancakes. He had time. Another minute and they were on Grundy's plate, Edward pouring the next two. Owen emerged from the bedroom.

“Oh my god,” Owen said, breathing deeply through his nose. “That smells amazing.” He came up behind Edward, kissing the side of his neck. He smelled like aftershave, just a bit too much. Edward would alert him of his preferences later.

“Can I keep you?” Owen asked, pressing himself closer and taking hold of Edward’s hips.

“ _Can_ you?” Edward asked vaguely, flipping two more pancakes onto a plate and handing them to him

“Depending on how good these pancakes are, I sure as hell might try,” Owen fervently declared, retreating to the table with his pancakes. A few moments later, a loud moan of approval answered the question for him. Edward smirked to himself. He took two pancakes for his own plate and began another batch for Grundy. The man could _eat_. Sitting at the table, Edward took a few bites of his pancakes and came to a few startling realizations.

One, that he had not used a recipe to make these pancakes. Two, that he _had_ in fact followed a recipe. Three, that this recipe had been born entirely of his memory, and four, that not only had he followed it to the letter, but the results were _delicious._ He pushed suddenly out of his chair and went to flip the last two pancakes, noting also that he had made _just_ enough batter. Edward desperately tried not to cry over _pancakes_. He succeeded, but only barely. Edward turned the burner off and took Grundy's plate from him, flipping the last two onto it. He sat, finishing his pancakes despite the sudden out-of-body experience overtaking him. When he was done, he brought his plate back to the sink robotically.

“I’ll clean up,” Owen said, wiping his face with a napkin. “You go get ready.” Edward nodded, feeling like a ghost in his own body that was simply drifting through the hallway to the bedroom. He went to the bathroom, stealing Owen’s razor for a shave. The he dressed mechanically in his suit, wondering how it was that making pancakes could be a behavior he executed almost unconsciously and with _ease_ when he couldn’t even remember children’s riddles.

Perhaps Lee was right. Maybe the damage wasn’t really of consequence, and it was all just in his mind. What if his psyche was the real reason for his mental block? How could he know for sure? He’d have to ask her about this as well. Owen was finished with the dishes when he came back, Grundy glued to the television once more.

“Thanks for brunch,” Owen said. “I figure we’ll go see my dad after you’re finished with Leslie. Cherry has given me a late lunch block in the past so I could go see him; it shouldn’t be a problem for me.” Edward’s eyes widened. He’d completely forgotten that they agreed to meet Emmett for lunch today. Suddenly, his success with the pancakes didn’t seem so significant.

“Oh,” Edward said, already thinking ahead to meeting with Owen’s father. Should he change his clothes? He realized with dawning horror that Emmett had only ever seen him in this suit.

“Ed? You okay?” Edward snapped out of it.

“I just need to change.” He raced back to the room, picking out a blue dress shirt and the same black slacks he’d worn before. He still took care of his suit, but with haste.

“Alright. Let’s get going,” Edward said. “Grundy!” Grundy lumbered off the couch, trailing after Edward. He needed to speak with Lee, he was getting in too deep with Owen—

Lee was not his therapist. Not officially. He needed to deal with this on his own. The three of them walked in silence to the gym, and Owen kissed him in front of Lee’s office before they parted ways. It tasted like ashes in his mouth.

“Ed? Just come straight back,” Lee called, no doubt hearing him enter. Edward went through the office and found her in the same room they always used, clipboard at the ready. She stood.

“Don’t bother sitting, we’re going for a ride.”

***

Leslie had a four door, well-made, fuel efficient vehicle. Edward had not expected anything less. Yet the security of this car did not give him any less anxiety about where he was going. It was a good thing he’d dressed casually.

“The machine is going to be very loud,” Lee told him, “and you have to be very still. This is going to tell us a lot about what’s going on up there.”

“Yeah, great,” Edward huffed miserably. He was not happy about leaving the safety of the Narrows, or the proximity of the hospital to Oswald’s territory. Which was everything _but_ the Narrows.

Lee had pulled some strings at the hospital with an old friend she trusted to keep her presence in Gotham on the down low. Edward was smuggled in the back door to an empty room with a large FMRI machine. He laid down and was pushed into the tube, trying to remain very still and resist the urge to scream in such a small, noisy space. He finally was allowed to leave the machine, his head ringing from the sensory overload. As they waited for the results to come in, Edward had an idea. Lee printed several copies of Edward’s brain in various colors, putting them into a folder.

“Thanks so much Jen, I owe you,” Lee said, hugging Jen goodbye.

“Damn right you do,” Jen said.

“If I might, I’m sure my insurance will cover the procedure,” Edward said. Lee and Jen turned in time to look at him, incredulous.

“I was on the Mayor’s insurance policy,” Edward said, sharing a loaded look with Lee. She smirked, understanding. “I’m sure he won’t mind footing the bill, seeing as he caused the damage.”

Sure enough, Edward was still on his policy, and Jen was able to run a card that Oswald that had on file. Edward was delighted to have managed even this small jab at him. Lee didn’t try to talk to him on the drive back, probably sensing that he was overwhelmed from the MRI, which he was. Overwhelmed, but still smug. Edward was grateful for the silence. It was either because of that, or the only news she had was bad. Regardless, Edward focused on trying to get the ringing in his ears to stop. When they settled into her office once more, the mood was decidedly grim. Edward’s mirth from his earlier trick evaporated.

“I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that the news isn’t great,” said Lee.

“You don’t say?” Edward drawled.

“Curb the attitude, I’m trying to help you.” Edward sat up straight. She was right. Being miserable— floating through life like a ghost with no idea of who he really was— didn’t excuse poor manners. He could at least keep his dignity.

“Sorry,” Edward said, trying to mean it. The attitude one took toward unavoidable suffering was one of the things that gave life meaning. He wanted his meaning to be a decent one, at least. Lee sighed.

“I haven’t done clinical therapy in a while,” she said. “I realize you’re going through a lot. If I seem unempathetic towards you, I apologize.”

“I’d prefer it that way,” Edward said. A lack of empathy was something he could handle in a person. Too much caring was always his stumbling block.

“Alright. That brings us to these,” she said, waving the folder with the images. “I think your brain has atrophied, significantly so in your hippocampus. I have a couple questions I need you to answer to establish when this atrophy began and verify if it is atrophy. Being honest will only help you.”

“I understand.”

“Have you had trouble regulating your emotions?” Lee said, pen at the ready.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“It’s been more extreme since I was unfrozen, over very minor things” Edward said. Before, he’d mostly been able to keep a handle on his sadness and anger except in extreme situations. Last’s nights breakdown, his mood swings before that... it called a lot into question.

“Have you found yourself dealing with negative thought patterns that are difficult to break?” _Useless. Useless. Useless._

“Yes,” Edward said, clenching his jaw. “All my life.” Lee looked up at this, and made a note.

“Any substance abuse?” Lee asked, and Edward watched as her eyes read ahead on the list, excepting him to decline.

“Yes,” Edward said. Lee’s eyes widened.

“When was this?”

“After I shot Oswald,” he admitted. Lee looked… sad. She wrote it down.

“Other risky behavior?” Lee asked. Edward frowned.

“Lee, we are literally in a _fight club_ having this discussion. My first instinct after seeing a monster launch a man ten yards down an alleyway was to _befriend_ him. Last night I slept with a man I’d known for two days because I _felt_ like it. What can you infer about my propensity for risk taking behaviors?” Lee’s eyes flicked up to him. Oh. He hadn’t _actually_ meant to mention the sex, he’d just been on a roll.

“Fair enough.” She didn’t comment on it, just jotted it down. It was then that she finally segued into his diagnosis.

“I think the damage to your hippocampus is a key part of this, but you clearly have other issues. Unfortunately, they’re all tied together, so it’s difficult to pin down causality. Fortunately, treating one thing may help in treating others. The atrophy to this part of your brain could be disrupting you in other ways. Sense of identity requires continuously understanding who you are in the world. Your state of memory is not about just knowing how to solve a Rubik’s cube or remembering your grocery list— it’s the concept we hold of ourselves. It’s vital to having a cohesive sense of self.” Edward listened intently as Lee described the core issue he was dealing with in relation to the damage to his brain. It was of course in some part because he valued his intelligence, but this connection to the actual physical damage in his brain was… fascinating. It would have been more thrilling if he was not the subject.

“Luckily, the hippocampus is very resilient,” Lee said. “We can take advantage of neuroplasticity, and the brain _can_ heal itself. I’m also going to give you a prescription for Venlafaxine. It’s an antidepressant, but some of what you’re describing closely correlates with depression and this drug has been shown before to help restore brain atrophy associated with the disease.”

“What else can I do?” Edward asked. He’d do any exercise, read any book. Hell, he’d even try a natural remedy.

“Take your vitamins, be active. I’ll give you some mental exercises to do as well,” Lee said, standing and rooting through a file cabinet. She came up with a folder, handing Edward a packet out of it.

“Thank you,” Edward said.

“I have one more question,” Lee said, sitting back down.

“Fire away,” Edward said, smiling. This was good news. They’d identified the problem, and Lee had a multitude of solutions.

“Why were you using after you shot Oswald?” She may as well have slapped the smile from his face. Edward glanced away, and answered slowly.

“At first, it was to keep up with Oswald’s workload. Then I— then I started to _see_ him. I had missed talking to him... it was so good to see him. He gave me advice… I mean I knew he was just a hallucination, but I showed him my plans, kept him updated.”

“What would he say?” Edward laughed.

“Mostly he told me my plans were foolish, tried to dissuade me from doing things. He also… made me admit something. He even sang for me once,” Edward said. It had been embarrassing at the time, but now he almost remembered it fondly.

“What did he sing?” Leslie asked.

“Wake Up Alone,” Edward said. “It’s one of my favourites. He was dressed to the nines. Top hat and everything.”

“How does it go?” Leslie said, voice even and calm, completely non-judgmental. Edward realized he’d been sharing things with her she hadn’t even asked about, but he didn’t mind. He kind of wanted someone to know. Obviously, this had nothing to do with his brain damage, but he found he didn’t mind sharing it with Lee.

“Well, the part he sang goes like—” Edward cleared his throat. “ _He's fierce in my dreams, seizing my guts, he floats me with dread. Soaked in soul, he swims in my eyes by the bed. Pour myself over him, moon spilling in. And I wake up… alone.”_ Lee nodded and scribbled furiously on her pad. Wait, why was she still taking notes on this? Weren’t they done?

“How long have you known you were attracted to men?” Well, that seemed a little off-topic.

“Since middle school, probably. Didn’t matter though, no one was interested.”

“And your parents were okay with this?”

“They never knew, and they wouldn’t have been,” Edward said. “My father would have killed me.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” Lee said, smiling a little nervously.

“No, it’s not. He would have killed me,” Edward said, matter-of-fact. Lee’s nervous smile faded into a cool mask of indifference, but he saw anger in the lines of her eyes. It was the same look he had sometimes, when he was angry with the world but couldn’t give that away. He’d grown up with that look, meeting his eyes fiercely in the mirror every morning, a challenge. He wonders if Lee knows her eyes give her away like his do.

“Were you ever with a man before Oswald confessed his feelings for you?”

“No,” Edward said. “Just Kristen and Isabella.” It felt so good to be able to talk about them, to remember that their time together had been real. He wondered sometimes if it was all a dream.

“How would you define your sexuality?” Lee asked.

“Bisexual,” Edward said. It was the first time he’d ever applied to term to himself aloud. The act was reassuring, in a sense, to describe himself in a new way. To have another descriptor.

“Have you always been comfortable with that label?” Lee probed.

“Well, if the shoe fits…” Edward said, smiling awkwardly. Lee’s stare intensified. “Yes, I’ve identified that way since I learned the word in high school. There was no point denying it to myself once I knew.”

“That was very mature, it couldn’t have been easy for you,” said Lee.

“No, it wasn’t,” Edward said, thinking about his father, and then decidedly _not_ thinking about his father.

“Was there any blowback from your peers?” Lee asked, searching his face carefully.

“I’ve actually never told anyone,” Edward said. “So, no, no one knows. Knew. Until now.” Lee put her pen down.

“Thank you for sharing that with me. Why haven’t you ever talked about this before?” Edward shrugged.

“No one ever asked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some serious plot happens in the next episode. I'm sure you're all dying to meet Professor Pyg...


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Lee find themselves at the mercy of a madman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get very horror movie-esque. Buyer beware.

Lee spent the rest of their time inquiring about his interests, his hobbies, and the various other things that made him... _himself._ Apart from riddles and being the smartest person in the room, of course. By the time he left her office, he almost felt like he _had_ an identity outside of his intelligence. Almost. Mostly, he was just grateful she hadn’t pried into his relationship with his parents.

Speaking of parents, the end of his time with Lee marked the beginning of leaving to get lunch with Owen’s father. He liked Emmett, and he _definitely_ liked his son. He wanted to make a good impression, but his people skills were… rusty.

 _You act like you’ve ever had them._ He could fake it well, though. That was what mattered. He found Owen wiping down the bar and sat on a stool, waiting for him to finish.

“What’s your poison, gorgeous?” Owen asked, winking at him. Edward smiled fondly and rolled his eyes.

“It’s one in the afternoon.”

“You know what they say, it’s five o’clock somewhere,” Owen said.

“An orange juice, if you would.” Owen rolled his eyes and poured Edward an orange juice, as requested.

“Cherry agreed to do some training with Grundy and look after him while we’re gone. Are you nervous?” Owen asked, watching Edward tentatively sip at his juice. Edward decided it was decent for a bar, and downed the rest.

“Very,” he said, and it felt like understatement. Owen leaned on the bar with both elbows, catching Edward’s gaze with his own.

“Don’t be,” he said, his voice soft and private between them. “Dad likes you. He’s an easy guy to get along with. You’ll be fine.” Edward felt like agreeing would set him up for failure and disappointment, but he didn’t want to disagree and psych himself out, either. Instead, he leaned across the bar and met Owen’s lips, trying to find some measure of comfort in it, so that he didn’t have to think about the inevitable disaster with Emmett. Owen made a soft noise of surprise and increased the pressure. He lifted a hand to the back of Edward’s neck to hold him in place as he pushed his tongue into his mouth, nails moving along his scalp and mussing his hair. Edward hummed happily at the sensation of fingers in his hair and sucked on Owen’s tongue, pulling away with a daring bite to the other man’s full bottom lip. Owen put their foreheads together.

“Trust me.”

***

Edward no longer remembered what direction he’d taken to get from where he’d first met Emmett to the gym. Fortunately, Owen was quite familiar with the walk to his father’s house, and he didn’t need to. He began to think that he recognized the neighborhood, Owen taking his hand as they passed a homeless encampment. He didn’t let go afterwards, and Edward didn’t mind. Finally, they were outside of Emmett’s apartment building. Edward wasn’t quite sure he was ready to _be_ there, and took a deep breath to steady himself. He shouldn’t be this _afraid_ of a lunch with Emmett. Owen must have heard him, letting go of Edward’s hand to gently cup his cheeks. His hands were large and warm, reassuring, and Owen pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Everything happened very quickly, after that. A van pulled up next to them, the door sliding open. A figure with the head of a pig emerged, taking a hard swing at Owen’s head with a meat tenderizer. Owen went down hard and did not move. Edward didn’t have a chance to react, to scream or flee, instead the figure rushed him, pressing a cloth to his mouth. Some part of Edward knew that to inhale would render him helpless, but he couldn’t suppress his gasp. In a moment, his world faded to black.

***

“There you are,” a cheerful, softly accented voice said. Edward dreaded opening his eyes, wanting all of it to simply be a bad dream. Instead, he was confronted with the grotesque pig mask from his nightmares. He was in some sort of abandoned building, bound tightly to a chair. His wrists were tied tightly, as were his ankles. There were only two lights that he could see. One was directly beside his face, making him unable to see the farther reaches of the warehouse through the brightness. The other was a bright, adjustable light of the variety used in hospitals, illuminating a crude medical set-up. There was a gurney and cart, and not much else.

“Why are you doing this?” Edward asked.

“You don’t want to know who I am?” the man— he could tell it was a man now— asked him.

“That doesn’t matter to me,” Edward said. “Your intentions towards me? Those matter.”

“And they say your brain is broken,” the man drawled pleasantly. “Well, it’s only proper we introduce ourselves first. I am Professor Pyg.”

“Professor.” Edward clenched his jaw and relaxed it, trying to remain calm. “What. Do. You. Want. With. Me.”

“I want to fix you,” Pyg said. “The Riddler was a sly fellow, the pinnacle of human intelligence… and now look at you.” Edward felt tears prickle in his eyes at the insult, but he refused to cry in front of this man.

“How do you expect to do that?” Edward said, not buying it for a minute.

“Well, first I must consult with your previous physician about the extent of the damage.” He swung the light away from him to cast light onto the unconscious form of Leslie Thompkins.

“Lee?” Edward called, unable to stop the reflex despite knowing that she couldn’t hear him. Edward turned a glare onto Pyg, furious.

“Our friends will find us,” Edward swore, “and then you’ll be sorry you ever did this.”

“Will I?” Pyg said. “No. No, Edward. You are to be the most intelligent of my creations, the most perfect by far. I’m going to make you smart again! You should be _thanking_ me.”

“I don’t thank people who make terrible decisions on my behalf,” Edward snapped. “I don’t want your treatment. Let us go.”

“Funny,” Pyg said, stepping forward until his apron was brushing Edward’s knees. He bent suddenly, taking hold of Edward’s face in his hand and squeezing hard, blunt nails digging into his face. Edward held his breath, scared to death of the horrific snout and everything it was attached to, currently hovering a mere inch from his face. “You think you have a choice.” Pyg released his face, and Edward inhaled deeply as he stepped away. A groan emitted from Leslie.

“There she is!” Pyg said, approaching her.

“What are you going to do to me?” Edward called, wanting to draw Pyg’s attention and spare Lee the horror of waking up to that hideous image. Pyg turned slowly back to him, then approached, his step surprisingly light. He came uncomfortably close to Edward once more, reaching up and carding his hands gently through Edward’s hair. Then he tapped his forehead twice.

“I’m going to open this up,” he said, “and take a little peek at the trouble.” Edward swallowed. He highly doubted this man was a qualified brain surgeon. His most precious asset was going to be in the hands of a madman, and it took everything he had to remain strong in that moment. He could see over Pyg’s shoulder that Lee was awake now.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Edward asked. He was answered with a slap across his face.

“You doubt my abilities?” Pyg growled. He took a handful of Edward’s hair, pulling his head back. “It is my calling, my gift, to eliminate imperfection. Do not question that again.” Edward nodded painfully, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. Pyg turned his attention to Lee and released his hair, and Edward let his head fall forward. _Don’t question the neurosurgery skills of the guy in a pig head, check._

“Dr. Thompkins,” Pyg drawled, rolling his steps towards her. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Can’t say the same,” Lee spat. “Who are you supposed to be? Piglet gone rogue?” Pyg chuckled.

“I am Professor Pyg,” he said, taking a bow.

“Gotham U sure has gone downhill since I went there,” Edward remarked, Lee’s antagonism bolstering him. Pyg’s lip curled, but he ignored Edward and continued speaking to Lee.

“With your assistance, I intend to restore our friend here to his previous perfection.”

“His brain is atrophied,” Lee said. “What can you possibly do to restore that? You’re insane. I won’t help you.”

“I can, and you will!” said Pyg, his voice booming through the warehouse. Edward shivered, but Lee was resolute. “You will tell me everything you know about his condition, and I will make his brain perfect again. With his help, I will then gut the GCPD of its swine and remove the cancer at the heart of Gotham City.”

“I won’t help you!” Edward shouted. He’d made a promise to Lee. Even if Pyg _did_ succeed, he wouldn’t help him hurt people.

“Incredible, that you still think you have a choice,” Pyg said. “When I’m done with you, I will be your master, and you _will_ obey me.” Edward swallowed, terrified at being under his scrutiny again. Pyg turned away.

“Now, Doctor Thompkins, tell me a little about the patient.” Lee spat at him for real this time, and Pyg recoiled.

“Insolent!” Pyg screamed, backhanding her. Edward gasped and looked away, his stomach rolling at the sight. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed through the panic rising in him. This wasn’t the same, it wasn’t the same. He was thirty years old, he was no longer a child, and he was not helpless. _But I am. I am completely helpless to do anything. I can’t even help myself_.

“Doctor-Patient confidentiality,” Lee smiled, all teeth. The hit hadn’t even fazed her, but it had left Edward in a cold sweat. “Bite me, porkchop. I’m not telling you anything.”

“So be it,” Pyg hissed. “I’ll do without your expert opinion.” Pyg walked toward Edward, and he felt his breathing pick up immediately. He was pleading before Pyg was even within a yard of him.

“Please, please don’t do this. It won’t work, I can’t help you.” Pyg removed a long knife from his apron, cutting the ties that held Edward to the chair. “Please, oh god, _please_ —” Pyg stood in front of him again, reaching for Edward.

“NO! No, no no nonononono—” Pyg lifted him over one shoulder. Edward kicked and struggled valiantly, but his hands and ankles were tied, and the most he could do was squirm. Pyg kept hold of him, and Edward was distantly aware of Lee screaming, demanding he put Edward down. Threatening him, pleading with him, promising her help with Edward’s brain atrophy if he’d stop. Pyg hesitated.

“I think I can make do without your help, but thank you kindly for the offer,” Pyg politely declined, throwing Edward onto the gurney.

“Lee!” Edward screamed, so loudly it hurt his throat. She had to help him, she had to do _something_. Pyg held him down with a hand on his chest, belting Edward onto the gurney. “Stop! Please, stop, stop.”

Pyg removed the knife again, cutting Edward’s ankles free. Edward kicked at him furiously, but Pyg merely caught hold of one ankle and then the other, cuffing him. He reached underneath Edward to untie his hands, crushing Edward’s wrist in his grip as he dragged it to the other cuff. Edward swung at him with his free hand, missing, and then Pyg was finished securing the first. He grabbed Edward’s other wrist as Edward swung at him, moving it towards the final restraint. Edward pulled and jerked his arm to no avail, and then he was completely immobile. He thrashed against his bonds and screamed, Lee’s pleas to let him go becoming a white noise.

“Relax,” Pyg said. “You will be awake the entire time.” Edward’s chest seized, and he felt himself beginning to hyperventilate. His vision swam, and when it cleared again Edward could see Pyg pushing a cart with an array of surgical implements on top of it, not unlike those he’d used at the GCPD. He remembered weighing and analyzing brains quite well, and Pyg had everything he needed for the task. Despite his earlier conviction, Edward cried. Now _he_ was going to be under the knife of an insane man. How the tables had turned.

The people Edward had done this particular procedure on had enjoyed the benefit of being dead, of course. Edward would be aware the entire time. He stopped screaming, unable to catch his breath long enough to produce them as tears rolled down his cheeks and he struggled to stop hyperventilating. Pyg pulled him by the hair again, pressing his head flat back against the gurney and drawing a strap across his brow. To think it was only a short time ago that he was afraid of having lunch with Owen’s father…

“Please,” he whimpered, Lee still shouting and raging, spitting venom at their captor. Telling him not to touch Edward, that she’d feed him his own hands, and other creative tortures Edward wasn’t sure were really coming from her mouth or if he was just imagining it.

“You’ll thank me when it’s over,” Pyg said. He removed Edward’s glasses and put them on his table, picking up a syringe. It was probably a local anesthetic, Edward reasoned, attempting to divorce himself from reality by intellectualizing the situation. He wondered what anesthetic Pyg was using, if he was going to use a block, or monitor Edward’s vitals at all. Somewhere, a door opened, and Edward would have thought he was just dreaming if Pyg’s head hadn’t snapped toward it. Lee’s threats and insults quickly turned into calls for help.

Pyg reached under the gurney and withdrew a gun, cocking it. Edward craned his head to see who it was, and then felt cool metal pressed to his temple. Oh god, Pyg was just going to kill them both and leave. He could make out a blurry figure coming towards them, but without his glasses Edward couldn’t tell who it was. Pyg still hadn’t pulled the trigger, what was going on? Then the figure spoke.

“Get away from him.” _Owen_. Pyg chuckled.

“You’re going to leave,” Pyg said, “Or I’ll kill him.”

“You didn’t do all this just to kill him,” Owen said. “Now back off.” Pyg sighed.

“You’re so right,” he said, pulling the gun from Edward’s head and stepping away from him. Then, lighting fast, he swung his arm up and fired. Owen made a pained noise, and Pyg rushed him. Edward couldn’t tell what was happening, only that there was a scuffle and then Pyg was next to him, placing two gun-shaped objects onto the table. Edward’s hope fizzled out as quickly as it had started.

“You’ll bleed out soon,” Pyg said. “Until then, you can watch.” No. No, this could _not_ be happening.

Somewhere, another door opened. Pyg huffed in annoyance.

“You were not kidding about your friends,” he remarked, picking up what Edward assumed was his own gun and Owen’s off the table.

“You don’t stand a _chance_!” Lee confidently declared. “I hope you’re ready for an ass kicking.”

“Not today, I don’t think,” Pyg said. “I will simply have to begin other plans. Toodles.” He left, his gait slow and unconcerned, like he wasn’t worried he’d be caught. Edward struggled in his bonds.

“We’re here,” he yelled. “Over here!”

“He’s getting away!” Lee yelled, impatiently waiting for their rescuers.

“Grundy friend?” Grundy said, stomping into the light. Edward sighed with relief.

“Buddy, am I glad to see you.” His smile faded when the rest of the company appeared. Jim Gordon (blonde hair, he knew that stance), Cherry (identifiable the distinctive streak of red and black over her eyes alone), Victor Zsasz (no hair, duel wield pistols)…

And _Oswald_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oswald to the rescue. What did you guys think of Pyg? It's pretty much Edward's worst nightmare to have something happen to his brain, and sure something has already happened to it, but actually having someone threaten to craniotomy you is a whole 'nother ballgame. Poor kid's gonna have nightmares.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Oswald talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, these two meet again. The possibilities of what could happen between them are endless, but here's one version of it. I would also like to thank everyone for the response to the last chapter, I really appreciate it, more than you know.

Jim made eye contact with Lee, stepping towards her like he was seeing a ghost.

“He’s getting away, Jim!” Lee snapped. “Go do your job.” Jim shook his head as if clearing it of cobwebs, then took off in the direction Pyg had gone. Smart man. It was never a good idea to cross Lee.

Meanwhile, Oswald walked closer to Edward. Edward didn’t have to see him clearly to know it was him. He knew his step, the distinct way he moved; he would know Oswald blind, by the sound of it alone. Grundy quickly ripped away the belts crossing Edward’s torso, and the one across his forehead, but he grew confused as to what to do about the restraints on his wrists and ankles. Oswald stepped in for the task, deftly undoing the cuff around his right hand.

“I’m sure you’re loving this,” Edward hissed, unable to help the anger that was boiling inside of him. Oswald had been the last person to hold him captive, after all. Pyg had pinned him down like an insect, or perhaps a butterfly, assuring him he was going to fix his wings. Oswald was the one who’d torn them from him and rendered him helpless, then put him on display. Oswald said nothing, moving on to the next cuff.

“I’ll do them myself!” Edward snapped, even angrier at the lack of reaction. “Don’t touch me!”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Oswald finally snapped back, getting in his face. Grundy pushed him away and stepped between them.

“Grundy friend said no touching,” Grundy solemnly repeated. Victor eyed him warily from behind his boss. Oswald looked about ready to snarl in his face despite being half his size, but just then Jim ran back into the room, diverting his attention.

“I lost him,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Nice once,” Lee snarked as Cherry cut the last of her ties. She immediately rushed to Owen’s side. Edward still couldn’t see what was happening, but he’d finally gotten the other cuff undone himself, bending to work at the cuffs around his ankles. Oswald was still hovering nearby, but Edward couldn’t make out his expression. He was probably angry… what was he doing here, anyways? Edward’s ankles were finally free, and he swung them over the gurney, grabbing his glasses from the side table. He always felt so helpless without them. Finally, he could make out Lee, applying pressure to Owen’s thigh where the bullet must have hit him. Edward rushed to his side, falling to his knees beside Lee.

“Is he going to be okay?” Edward asked her, assessing the situation. Now he could see that Owen was unconscious from the blood loss, blood that was spreading in a steady pool underneath him.

“We need to bring him back to Cherry’s, I can help him there. I don’t know how long he’ll make it at the rate he’s bleeding.”

“The Lounge is closer,” Oswald interrupted, “He’ll have a better chance if we take him there. I have everything you need, and Ivy can offer her expertise as well.”

“Why would we trust you?” Edward asked. “Why would _I_ ever agree to go back there?” Jim came closer.

“Pyg brought you out of the Narrows, it’ll take at least fifteen minutes to get you back there, even with my sirens on. The Lounge is his best bet.” And Oswald would have Edward right where he wanted him. It was an easy decision to make.

“Grundy, I need you to pick Owen up,” Edward called, gesturing for him to come closer. “We’re going to the Iceberg Longue.”

***

The ride there was harrowing. Ed and Lee were crammed into the back of Jim’s squad car with Owen laying on top of them, giving him what triage they could. Grundy was up front with Jim, Oswald and Victor in their own vehicle behind them. Cherry had wished them luck and driven back to the Narrows, unwilling to get caught in the craziness and eager to return to a place that was under her control. It took three minutes to get to the Lounge, three minutes in which Edward tried to enjoy his last moments of freedom while his boyfriend bled out in his lap. It was no easy task.

Oswald would surely kill Owen if he found out who he has to Edward. There was also no way Edward would walk out of the Lounge unless Oswald _wanted_ him too, and Edward _highly_ doubted that Oswald would want him to. But at least Owen would have a _chance_ to survive this way. If it cost Edward his freedom for the chance to right this wrong, then so be it. Edward felt guilt consuming him for becoming involved with Owen; he had known it was only a matter of time before Oswald changed his mind and caught up with him, but he’d done it anyways. He’d put another innocent bystander between himself and Oswald, and now he was going into the lion’s den on the sliver of hope that Oswald wouldn’t find out. Owen stirred in his lap, eyes fluttering.

“Owen?” Edward called. “ _Owen_ , look at me. Oswald can’t know we’re together, do you understand? He’ll kill you.” Owen may or may not have nodded, and Edward kissed him chastely, wondering vaguely if it would be the last time. He’d done his best. Whether or not Owen was coherent enough to understand was not something he could change right now.

“I won’t let that happen,” said Lee.

“Neither will I,” said Jim.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Lee growled. “Why are you involved, anyways?”

“Oswald wanted help going after Pyg. He’s been killing cops, and it’s hurting Oswald’s reputation. Pax Penguina had a 100% survivability rate for cops until Pyg showed up, which is why they’re loyal to Penguin. If he can’t guarantee their safety, he also can’t guarantee that they’ll follow his licensing system.”

“And you’re helping Oswald… why?” Edward asked. Jim huffed.

“I’m protecting my fellow officers. Right now, Penguin and I want the same thing.”

“Grundy kill Piggy,” Grundy said. “Piggy hurt Grundy friend.”

“Hush,” Edward said. “We’re not getting involved, Grundy. That’s the end of it.” Grundy pouted and slouched in his seat, snoring three seconds later.

“Is this… Butch Gilzean?” Jim asked, glancing up at Edward in the mirror.

“Was,” Edward said. “He’s a different person now, doesn’t remember anything.”

“Guess that’s pretty convenient for you, huh?” Jim said, taking on a sharper tone. For a moment, Jim held power over Edward, the power to turn one of his only allies against him.

“And me,” Lee warned. “I broke his rib on my stiletto the last time we met.” And just like that, Lee took it back. Edward couldn’t be more grateful to her. The prospect of endangering Lee shut Jim up pretty quickly on the subject of Grundy’s past. Through the windshield, Edward could see the Longue.

“Grundy!” Edward shouted, rousing him from his sleep. “Up and at ‘em, big guy. I need you to carry Owen again once the car stops.” Grundy nodded vigorously.

“Grundy can help.” Jim parked in the fire lane in front of the Lounge, Oswald’s car pulling up behind them. Grundy threw open Jim’s passenger door so hard it slammed back against the front. He blinked at it, then opened the back door more gently and scooped Owen up. Oswald and Victor had already gone ahead into the Lounge. Jim’s police radio came to life in a burst of static and panicked screaming.

“I have to go,” he said, looking pleadingly back at Lee though the metal grate.

“Good riddance,” she said, following Edward out of the car and slamming the door shut behind her. They hurried into the Lounge.

“Ivy!” Oswald screeched, “Bullet wound!”

“Gotcha!” a voice yelled back. Oswald continued to lead them towards it. He walked past the bar, to the start of the private rooms in back, pulling open the first door and holding it for them. Inside looked like an overgrown emergency room, plants covering every available surface, even the ceiling. Underlying it all was medical equipment, and in the center of the room a person with long, curling red hair in a white lab coat was facing away from them. The figure turned towards them, and Edward suppressed a gasp. Her skin was noticeably green, and for a moment Edward fooled himself into thinking that it was simply so white it was a reflection of the colors of the greenery around them.

“Put him down here,” Ivy said, gesturing to a surgical table. Edward stepped into the room until he was beside it, Grundy following after him and gently laying Owen down. Lee came after, and the room was quickly becoming crowded.

“Ed, take Grundy and wait outside,” Lee said.

“I can help,” Edward insisted, locating a box of green gloves and snapping them on.

“No, you’re a mess and you’re wasting time. I’ll handle it,” Lee firmly insisted. Edward hesitated, then left, trusting Lee and this Ivy creature to save Owen’s life. It wasn’t easy.

“Edward,” Oswald said, catching his elbow as he walked through the door. Grundy growled behind him, and he dropped it. “I’d like to talk to you.” He cast a glance at Grundy. “Alone.” Edward knew this moment had been coming. He nodded his assent and turned to Grundy.

“Stay here,” he said, “and keep them safe.” On an impulse, he hugged Grundy, fully expecting to never see him again. Grundy hugged him back so hard he couldn’t draw breath, and it still wasn’t hard enough. Finally ending the hug, Edward began following Oswald through the Lounge like a man condemned, past the spot where Oswald had imprisoned him for five months and _ruined_ him. Eventually, they reached what could only be his office. The décor wasn’t to Edward’s taste, and there was a desk with a huge, high-backed chair behind it. Compensating much? He smirked to himself, forgetting the gravity of his situation for a brief moment of happiness.

“Please, take a seat,” Oswald said, gesturing to the small, low chair in front of the desk. Edward instantly sobered and sat. To his surprise, Oswald did not. Instead he leaned back on the desk, putting both hands on the edge and smiling softly at Edward, crossing his bad leg in front of the other. “It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough,” Edward said, his lip curling. He shouldn’t be showing this much of his hand to Oswald, but he was furious and couldn’t hide that. “How did you find me?”

“I never lost you,” Oswald said. “I’ve had people tailing you 24/7 since you left this establishment last.” Edward’s eyes widened. That meant he knew about Owen. It meant that red-headed woman was probably killing him right now on Oswald’s orders.

“ _Owen_ ,” Edward whispered, launching himself out of the chair.

“I promise you, no harm will come to your… to Owen.” Oswald said.

“Like you didn’t harm Isabella?” Edward screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. He didn’t have time for this. He turned, running for the door. There might still be a chance—

“You’re right.” Edward froze, then turned slowly around to face him.

“ _What?_ ” Edward hissed. He had definitely not just heard what he _thought_ he heard.

“You’re right. What I did to her was a mistake, and I deeply regret that,” Oswald said sincerely. Clearly, Edward was still being held by Pyg, and he was poking around in Edward’s brain and stimulating this impossible dream. That explanation made _entirely_ more sense than this… this sudden remorse.

“The last time we spoke about her, you told me I should _thank you_ for what you did,” Edward said, his voice shaking and cracking on the last word. He walked back towards Oswald, waiting for his response.

“I was wrong to say that,” Oswald said. “I have no excuse.”

“Then you’ll agree that you deserve to be _dead_ for what you did,” Edward said, jabbing his index finger into Oswald’s sternum. “You should be dead, and she should _still be alive_!”

“I won’t pretend to know that I can make a fair guess about who deserves to live or die,” Oswald began, “but I do know that I deserved what happened to me by your hand. You had every right to be angry and to exact your revenge. I would have done the same. What I called you in here to discern is… are we done?”

Was he? Edward hadn’t actually expected Oswald to _agree_ with him. To agree that he’d deserved punishment for his crime. He certainly hadn’t felt like that before Edward was frozen solid. Was this a ploy?

“You agree that you deserved to be shot?” Edward repeated. He must be misunderstanding.

“Yes. You clearly loved her and I— I was only thinking about myself. I knew it would hurt you and I did it anyways. In fact, I planned to take advantage of it. You probably already guessed that I’d arranged for you to see the body, given that trick with my father’s corpse.” Edward nodded. “Well, you were right about the reason I killed her. I didn’t do it for love, I did it for me. You shot me because I killed her, and I can’t pretend I don’t agree with that decision on a fundamental level.”

“She wasn’t the only reason I shot you,” Edward whispered. He never thought he’d have a chance to talk about this. Oswald hadn’t understood the last time, but maybe now— Maybe Edward could finish what he’d started. Maybe Oswald would see this time.

“You _betrayed_ me,” Edward said, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. That was what hurt the most. More than losing Isabella. Losing _Oswald_ , losing what he’d thought they had together. He’d trusted Oswald with his _life_ , he would have given him _anything_ , done anything for him.

“You were my _best friend_. And you _betrayed_ me. You hurt me deeper than anyone ever has, because I _trusted_ you not to. I let myself be vulnerable with you and you used it _against_ me, you used it to your advantage to _trick_ me and draw suspicion away from yourself. I never even _suspected_ it could be you, not _once_ , because I fooled myself into believing that you actually _cared_ about me.” He took a deep breath to steady his shaking voice.

“You never even said you were _sorry_.” Edward’s voice diminuendoed into a whisper, losing his steam and his anger as his confession reminded him of how _devastated_ Oswald’s betrayal had left him. What it had done to him, the person it had turned him into. Throughout it all, Oswald watched him. Watched, and _listened_.

“ _Edward_ ,” Oswald said, reaching out and holding Edward’s biceps as he shook, all the pain and sadness inside of him swirling to the surface as he went back and relived the moment he found out his best friend had killed the woman he loved. The worst moment of his life. The moment that had destroyed him, destroyed everything between them. Edward distantly felt tears on his face, waiting for what Oswald had to say. What could Oswald _possibly_ have to say to him now?

“Edward, _I’m sorry_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cut this chapter short JUST for that cliffhanger. Muhahaha. So, what did you think? Also, remember Pyg's comment of, "You should be thanking me.” and Edward's reply, "“I don’t thank people who make terrible decisions on my behalf."? I like to think of that as a prelude/parallel to his point about Oswald saying that Edward should have thanked him for killing Isabella and how fucking awful that was. :D
> 
> Questions, comments, concerns? Your comments influence me and the course of the story. Don't be concerned about it being too short or not coherent enough, I'll appreciate it regardless.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Oswald talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owen v. Oswald is brief but it's here. This is... a lot of talking and Edward being a brat and living in his head.

Edward blinked rapidly at him. “Come again?”

“I said I’m sorry, Edward,” Oswald said. “I wronged you… more than I even knew until just now. I thought I loved you, but it wasn’t reflected in how I treated you and for that I _am_ sorry. I regret what I did more than you’ll ever know.”

“I might have some idea,” Edward said, reminded of a few of his own regrets. No, why did he say that? He wasn’t sure Oswald realized how much this apology _meant_ to him, but it definitely wasn’t smart to clue him in. Besides, what was the point of Oswald apologizing now? Unfortunately, Edward didn’t trust himself to discern whether Oswald was being truthful or not, and was therefore unsure whether or not he believed him. Without that, how could he ascertain a potential motive? Not to mention that he wasn’t _ready_ for this sudden apology, or for any discussion that would follow. He took a deep breath, and then he lied.

“Well, you _should_ be sorry. Too little, too late,” Edward said, brushing his tears away with the back of his— of Owen’s shirt.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Oswald said. “I just needed you to know that I understand what I did was wrong, and I won’t hurt your— won’t hurt Owen. That’s all.” He sounded so reasonable. Edward hated it.

“Well I _don’t_ forgive you,” Edward said, purposefully being argumentative to test the boundaries of Oswald’s remorse. “And your apology is _not_ accepted. Am I allowedto leave now?”

“You could have left whenever you felt like it,” Oswald said. “I meant what I said. You’re not the Riddler, and you never will be again. Which means you aren’t my adversary.” He walked around his desk and sat down. That stung for a moment, before he remembered he didn’t _care_.

“I don’t intend to be,” Edward said. “You’re not worth it.” Oswald didn’t contradict him, and he stood there in the awkward silence for a moment.

“You were leaving?” Oswald reminded him. Oh, right. He was meant to be doing that. Although…

“Why did you save me?” Edward asked. Oswald had been perfectly content to let them both go their separate ways, or so it had seemed. He didn’t care about Edward anymore.

“I was interested in stopping Pyg to protect my reputation and the cops on my payroll. It was a happy coincidence that I already had a tail on you. When Pyg took you, he unintentionally alerted me to his whereabouts. Jim was interested in helping when the lives of officers were at stake, more so when he found out that Pyg had taken Lee as well.” Well, that was a reasonable enough answer. Yet for some reason Edward was left… disappointed. It had been stupid to think that Oswald had done it because he still cared about him. Stupid. He needed to get a grip. But then again…

“Why did you have me followed?”

“I—” Oswald’s eyes widened, then he coughed, and his face transformed into a mask of cool indifference. It was so smooth Edward wondered if he had even seen that momentary panic at all. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t plotting against me, that I wouldn’t regret letting you walk away.” It made sense as an answer, but once again Edward found it wanting. He wasn’t sure if it was Oswald’s answer that was left incomplete, or if his own remaining, pitiful need for Oswald to still care about him was clouding his judgement.

“That’s… fair enough,” Edward said. “I suppose I should—” he swallowed his pride. And swallowed again. Oswald had apologized, he could do at least this much in return.

“Thank you, Oswald,” he said, only choking on it a little bit. “For offering to help Owen. I— I owe you.” Oswald sat up at this, panic overcoming his face. Edward wasn’t sure what he could have possibly said to cause such a reaction, turning momentarily to look behind him for some other threat. When he turned back, Oswald’s expression was pleading.

“That was _not_ my intention when I offered to help,” Oswald passionately declared, rising from his chair with one hand over his chest. “You don’t have to— you don’t _owe_ me.” Oswald seemed very intent on reassuring Edward that he wasn’t trying to trick him or manipulate him. It had the opposite effect, and put Edward on guard for that exact thing.

“Right, well—” Edward said, feeling the sudden vulnerability of his situation all too keenly. “I should… get going.”

“Right,” Oswald said. Edward could not bring himself to look away for a few heated moments, shaking his head as through emerging from a trance and booking it through the door. That had been very odd. And unexpected. Did Oswald want them to be… even?

It made sense, given his acceptance that he had deserved the comeuppance Edward had dealt him. And his insistence that Edward didn’t owe him for… for saving Owen’s life, really. That was another thing. Oswald _knew_ that he and Owen were, well, _together_. It would have been in his interest to let Owen die, thereby eliminating his competition for—

For Edward’s affections. Which he no longer desired. The point was moot. What did it matter that Oswald’s had saved the life of Edward’s lover instead taking it? He wasn’t interested in the position any longer, therefore neither action had any inherent value or meaning. Edward was trying to read too much into this, he needed to stop before he did something foolish. Like telling Oswald he’d valued their time together, that he’d cared about him and missed him and still does—

Stop it. Idiot. He needed to see Lee and Owen, get his head on straight. Lee had been resolute after seeing Jim, he had to do the same. Grundy was standing guard outside of the room, and gave Edward a toothy grin when he sees him.

“Friend back!” Grundy said, pulling him into a hug.

“Yes, I’m back,” Edward said, finding himself enjoying the contact. He wondered if his abduction had given Grundy a scare, and if that was why he was so reluctant to let Edward out of sight before. The idea was oddly touching. Grundy released him slowly. “Don’t worry, buddy. I just want to see Owen.” Grundy nodded, and Edward headed inside.

Owen was awake and on a drip, his legs covered by a sheet. Lee and Ivy glanced up at him as he walked in, then went back to their conversation.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Owen said. His smile seemed dimmer than usually, and Edward sat on the edge of the bed. He kissed Owen’s forehead, giving him a small smile in return.

“Hi,” Edward said. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got shot in the leg,” Owen said. “You?”

“I’m fine,” Edward said, “Pyg wasn’t able to do anything by the time Oswald showed up with Jim and Zsasz.”

“Who?” Owen asked. “Wait, were those the other guys that showed up?”

“Yeah. I meant to ask you about that,” Edward said. “It can wait, though.”

“It’s fine,” Owen said, sitting up. “I woke up on the sidewalk and saw pig-guy dragging you into the van. He took off before I could even stand. I went inside to get my Dad’s gun and then took his car to Cherry’s to get some backup and go after you. By the time I got there, Cherry was starting her own car and had Grundy in the backseat. They were about to go after Lee, said the same guy had just taken her. We lost him outside of the Narrows, kept having to stop and ask people if they’d seen a creepy guy in a pig mask driving a white van. Y’know, people in this city are surprisingly helpful when you’re going after freaks.”

Ivy’s head snapped around to glare at them. Edward shot him a look of reproach, and Owen swallowed.

“No offense,” he said. Her eyes narrowed. “Anyways, we found it parked outside a building, and then those three rolled up in a cop car. They wanted to wait and make a plan, but I knew every second you were alone with that psycho counted and I ran in without them. You could have already been dead, for all I knew.” Edward’s eyes watered.

“That was stupid,” he said, wrapping his arms around Owen’s shoulders and hugging him tightly. “Thank you.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Owen said, pressing a kiss to his temple. It wasn’t like Owen to run towards the unknown, and his actions might just have saved Edward’s life.

“If you hadn’t gotten there when you did—” Edward sobbed just thinking about what had happened to him, pressing himself against Owen. Owen shushed him and stroked his hair and down his side, soothing him. Eventually Edward settled again. He’d almost lost his mind, his everything.

“So, who were those guys? And where are we?”

“The blonde was Jim Gordon, he’s a detective at the GCPD. Victor Zsasz, the bald one, works for Oswald. And Oswald is, um… remember how I told you about my ex?”

“Oswald is your ex?” Owen asked, eyes narrowing.

“Um, well… about that—”

“Ed?” Oswald called, leaning through the doorframe. “I um… just wanted to see how he was doing.”

“Oswald,” Edward said, laughing nervously. “He’s fine, we’re fine. Everything is fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Owen said, throwing off the sheet. Edward panicked, grabbing his shoulders and trying to keep him on the bed.

“Owen, wait, let me explain—”

“I know enough about your ex to know he has this coming,” Owen said, slipping under Edward’s hold. And with that, he took three limping steps towards Oswald and punched him squarely in the face. Ivy shrieked in outrage, grabbing the phone mounted on the wall and paging Victor to their location. Oswald tumbled back into the hallway holding his face.

“Oh dear,” Edward said, pulling Owen back to the bed. “Oh my, I can’t believe you just did that.”

“I’m not afraid of gangsters,” Owen said, letting Edward push him back. “He deserves worse than that for what he did to you, that sick little bastard.” Oswald was already on his feet in the hall outside of the door. Victor strolled into the room in front of him, both guns aimed at Owen. Edward put himself into the line of fire.

“Please don’t kill him,” Edward begged, addressing Oswald over Victor’s shoulder. His nose was bleeding, and it looked broken. Edward winced in sympathy, then thought of Owen. There was no way he would get away with a slight against Oswald of this nature and live. None. Not unless…

Not unless Oswald still cared about him. Earlier he’d deflected from suggesting even the slightest hint of remaining concern for Edward, but then why had he shown up at the warehouse _himself_ to go after Pyg? Why would he prioritize Edward once there instead of going after Pyg? Why would he apologize? Why would he have had Edward followed for so long? Why try so hard to save Owen and prove to Edward that he had learned from what happened with Isabella?

Oswald had killed men for far less than what Owen had just done. But if Edward was right, and Oswald still loved him, then perhaps if he asked nicely enough Oswald would spare him. He just had to do it in a way Oswald would understand, a way that would convey how serious he was about this.

Edward walked around Victor, who trained one gun on him until Oswald gestured for him to relax. When he was in front on Oswald, he dropped to his knees.

“Please,” Edward said, reaching for the hem of Oswald’s jacket and then thinking better of it. He kept his hands to himself. Oswald stared at him, mouth slightly agape.

“Get up,” Oswald whispered. Edward hesitated. Then, more forcefully, “Get up, Edward.” Edward obediently rose to his feet.

“I want you to leave,” Oswald said quietly. Edward opened his mouth to interrupt. “Yes, you can take your ill-mannered beau with you.” He shut his mouth. Grundy kept a watchful eye from the doorway as Oswald walked away. Well, it was the best outcome he could have asked for.

Then why did he feel so dismayed?

***

They called a cab. Grundy, Lee, and Owen all scrunched into the back, but Edward didn’t get in.

“I’ll meet you back at the apartment,” Edward told Owen, who stared steadfastly ahead. Edward knew when it began that this relationship was unlikely to last, but it still hurt to see it fall apart in front of his very eyes. Lee was also glaring at him, no doubt going to harp on his bad decision-making later.

“Have fun with your ex,” Owen said, rolling up the window. Edward stepped back, and the cab took off. He headed back inside.

“I thought I told you to leave,” Oswald said, holding ice to his face at the bar. There was a half-empty bottle of vodka next to him.

“I thought I should explain,” Edward said.

“You told him I was your ex,” Oswald said, shifting the ice.

“He assumed. I didn’t correct him,” Edward replied. “Let me see?” Oswald hesitated, then put the ice down. Edward gently took hold of his chin, turning Oswald’s face to him. There were tears in his eyes from the pain, but Oswald never let them fall.

“You didn’t tell him anything, did you?” Oswald said as Edward observed the damage.

“You’re going to have two black eyes,” Edward said. “And no, I didn’t.” Oswald smiled self-deprecatingly.

“Well, lying didn’t work out very well for me, either,” Oswald said.

“Telling the truth didn’t work out for me,” Edward said, thinking back to Kristen.

“Sounds like you’re fucked either way,” Oswald said, pulling his chin from Edward’s grip and taking another swig of vodka. “So, what did you tell him about me that made him so righteously angry on your behalf?”

“He knew you were a gangster, and that I was afraid you’d find me. The first night we met I told him that the injury to my hand was because of you, and I told him later about the brain damage you caused,” Edward said. “He drew his own conclusions. I think that was enough.” Oswald hummed and held the ice to his face again.

“That was a cute trick with our insurance, by the way,” Oswald said. “I kicked you off our policy, just so you know.”

“Why was I still on it if I was frozen in a block of ice for five months?” Edward countered.

“Oh, I told everyone you had a rare brain disease. All I needed to do was have a few doctors to make up results for me, and part of the ruse was to keep you on the insurance, of course. I told everyone you’d been frozen while we waited for the cure. It was all _very_ romantic,” Oswald finished, taking another swig.

“You’re so full of yourself,” Edward said, snarling. He didn’t know why he’d bothered. “And then you put me on display in your club?” How stupid were people?

“I made up some story about you wanting to be out with the people, blah blah blah. It wasn’t very believable, but I am the King of Gotham. If I want to create truth, I can.”

“Well, I hope I was a useful reminder to you during my tenure here,” Edward groused. Oswald looked sad at the mention.

“You were,” he said, and Edward didn’t know _what_ to say to that.

“It was at a cost, though,” Oswald said. “I never meant for— I never meant for the damage that occurred, Edward. You have to believe that.”

“Then what was the point of mocking me over it!” Edward yelled. Oswald winced.

“That was a mistake,” Oswald said. “I was hoping it would… motivate you. Snap you out of it. But instead you were just defeated. You were always much better at encouragement than I was.”

“That’s an understatement,” Edward said. He’d been at his lowest before Oswald, and then the man had possessed the nerve to decide against freezing him only when Edward actually _wanted_ him to.

“When I saw that you were willing to give up, I barely recognized you anymore. I left you with a challenge to become the person who _could_ get revenge on me once more. I confess that I’ve… _missed_ having an equal.” Oswald took another drink. One fourth of a bottle left now. It had probably been full when he started.

“You considered us equals?” Edward said. He’d always thought Oswald had considered himself above Edward, and then reduced him to just being some prize to steal away from Isabella.

“That’s why I love you,” Oswald said, then his eyes bulged. “Loved you!” Edward smiled. Oswald did still care! He had in fact been pretending earlier that he didn’t. Edward _knew_ it. So, the advantage was still his, after all. Oswald hadn’t told him again after their first showdown on the pier, but Edward knew he still had feelings for him all along. His attempts to get Oswald to reiterate his love for him hadn’t worked, but he _knew_ it, and—

Why did he care so much?

“Well,” Edward said, clearing his throat. He decided to ignore the slip for both their sakes and file it away. “The Riddler as Gotham knew him is done. I’m reforming. You asked me earlier if I was done trying to exact revenge. What’s becoming clear to me is that I’ll probably never be the same man who sought revenge on you, but I confess that I… I don’t particularly _want_ to be.”

“You don’t?” Oswald asked, surprised.

“No, it was… it was a worthwhile experiment, but I was unsatisfied by the results,” Edward vaguely answered. He didn’t want Oswald to know how alone he’d felt, not yet.

_Not ever_ , part of him hissed. _He’d only use it against you, like he has EVERYTHING else._ A fair enough point. For now, it stood. He didn’t trust Oswald not to hurt him again, perhaps he never would. But leaving here on more civil terms and having an actual conversation about what happened between them? Well, that was an excellent start. Much better than the bickering they’d been doing.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Oswald said. “You know I wasn’t really a fan.”

“Yes, well, my decision has nothing to do with you,” Edward said. And the best part was that he wasn’t lying. Almost every important decision he’d made about his identity over the past few years had somehow involved Oswald, but this? This was for him. It was what _he_ wanted. It felt good. It felt _right_.

“I didn’t mean to imply that,” Oswald said, meeting his eyes. Edward took a breath.

“I know. What I don’t know is… where does this leave us?” Edward asked. Oswald looked away.

“I imagine you want nothing to do with me, and it’s better for me that you stay away.” Edward smirked. So, Oswald didn’t _want_ him to stay away. Oh, why did that make him feel giddy? Edward took another breath to steady himself.

“So, a truce?” Edward asked. “We stay out of each other’s hair?”

“Precisely,” Oswald said. That was fine. Eventually, Oswald would seek him out again, because Oswald still _loved_ him. The very idea sent a current of electricity through Edward. He might not be the sharpest crayon in the box anymore, but he still had this. He still had Oswald’s affections.

“Fine by me,” Edward said, standing. “Goodbye, Oswald.”

“Goodbye, Edward.” It was exactly what he wanted, it gave him the perfect opportunity for Oswald to come to _him_ , for Edward to—

To what? He wasn’t seriously thinking about playing hard to get, was he? _Why not_? Because Oswald had killed his girlfriend, hurt him, had him beaten, frozen him, mocked him, humiliated him, manipulated him… and there was no guarantee he wouldn’t do it again.

And yet… Oswald had also _loved_ him. Loves him? He’d finally apologized, finally understood exactly how he’d hurt Edward, and he’d been _sorry_ about it. He said he _regretted_ his actions. Had Oswald ever apologized to anyone in his life? And he’d just apologized to Edward, who’d tried to kill him _twice._ It was almost too good to be true, but it had happened. Not only that, but he had let Owen live because Edward had asked him to, when he would have killed anyone else for what he’d done. Neither of these acts had been a manipulation to try and win Edward over again, because Oswald still believed it was better that they didn’t see one another again, and his behavior was consistent with that. He also couldn’t have predicted that Owen would attack him, and Oswald was normally a very impulsive man. If it wasn’t for Edward, he would have killed him on the spot. But he hadn’t, and it could only have been because he cared about him, as Edward possessed no threat or blackmail to deter him. The only edge Edward had over him now was their relationship to one another, and Oswald had spared Owen to prevent jeopardizing that. It could only be because it still had value to him.

Oswald clearly wasn’t expecting anything from Edward in return for his apology, and he had even taken significant attitude from him in his rejection of Oswald’s apology. The kind of attitude Oswald normally couldn’t tolerate without dishing it right back… and yet he hadn’t. Not to mention that he had only admitted that he still had feelings for Edward while inebriated, and by _mistake_. He wanted to pretend that they didn’t exist, he wanted to move on. Given everything he knew, it seemed that Oswald was being… genuine. Edward wasn’t sure if it was the brain damage or some deeper part of him, but if he didn’t know better he might have said that he _forgave_ Oswald. Now wouldn’t that be insane?

In the time it took him to think this through, he reached the door of the Lounge. He’d had his perfectly scripted ending, so why did he feel as though he still had more to say to Oswald? He was _done_ with him. They were supposed to be _done_ with each other. Yet already he was thinking of Oswald’s eventual return to him, drawn to Edward by the inevitability of a love so strong it was inescapable despite his vow to never make that mistake again. It was a _fantasy_. A fantasy he should not have been having, and one that should have ended right then, with the words ‘Goodbye, Oswald.’ Just like that first time on the Pier. Just like he’d wanted.

Did he want that?

“You should use a bag of frozen peas for the first day,” Edward said, breaking script and speaking to the door in front of him. “It conforms to the eye better than a bag of ice. Switch to a warm compress to help get rid of it faster on the second day, and onward. Warmth increases blood flow to the area and facilitates healing. It’ll still probably take at least a week to go away completely.”

“Thank you, Edward,” Oswald said. He sounded oddly nasally, but Edward did not turn around. He nodded at the door, and then pushed through it.

He’d changed his mind; their story wasn’t ending there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this wasn't confusing and hard to get through, Edward's brain is doing weird things right now and he can't jump to conclusions, he has to test and retest and process. It takes a whole chapter to assure himself Oswald still likes him basically lmao.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen confronts Edward; Lee asks a hard question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Registration for class is over. I survived. Here's more. Warning for mild gore.

Edward takes a cab back to Owen’s apartment, where Owen is waiting on the couch with Grundy.

“How’d it go with your _ex_?” Owen asked, his tone combative. Edward sighed.

“What did Lee tell you?” he asked, already dreading the conversation he was anticipating.

“She refused to say anything, said it wasn’t her place. But I’m not stupid, Edward!” Owen said, raising his voice. Grundy’s attention whipped around from the cartoons to Owen, glaring at him.

“No yelling,” Grundy said, glancing up at Edward.

“It’s fine, Grundy,” Edward told him. “We’re just talking. Owen, why don’t we do this somewhere _else_?” He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume so that Grundy might not overhear them. He didn’t want him getting upset and thinking that Edward was in danger, and Edward definitely anticipated that shouting was to follow. Owen was already marching off to the bedroom, and Edward followed, ready for the verbal lashing he deserved.

“You lied to me,” Owen said. “I want to know everything.”

“Okay, well. To start, Oswald and I were never in a romantic relationship. When you asked, I was going to say that he was my ex friend, but I hesitated, and you assumed he was just my ex. Which, considering everything that happened, was much easier to explain, so I never bothered correcting you. After a while it just seemed too late to say anything about it, so I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

“You’re _sorry_?” Owen said. “I think you’re omitting a big part of what exactly the issue is here!” Edward swallowed.

“And… what would that be?” Edward asked. There were a _lot_ of things he’d omitted.

“He’s not just a gangster, he’s _the_ gangster! Oswald _Cobblepot_ ,” Owen yelled, gesticulating wildly with his hands.

“You’re right, I probably could have elaborated on that at some point,” Edward said, trying to remain calm.

“When?” Owen snapped. “When were you planning on doing that?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t exactly pick a date!” Edward exclaimed, defensive, through he knew he didn’t really have a right to be right now.

“Were you ever going to tell me the truth?” Owen asked him. There was a hurt in his eyes Edward couldn’t name, one that still pained him to have caused.

“I… I don’t know,” Edward admitted. He looked down at the floor.

“Well, there are a few other things I want to yell at you about,” Owen said, going over to his desktop computer. “Didn’t take me long to find out some things about you, once I had the good sense to search your name.”

Edward’s face drained of color.

“Arkham Asylum, four counts of murder.” Owen said, not looking away from the screen. “Now, I could almost forgive that in a city like this, because your insanity plea actually worked, and you seem to be more on top of your mental health. That’s commendable. But here’s another seven people who came after. Now, what I _really_ don’t like is a little something I found in a statement from a man named Lucius Fox to the Gazette, following six of those murders. He says that you confessed to killing the Mayor, a.k.a. the _very_ same Oswald I just had the pleasure of punching. And the reason was, and I quote, ‘Oswald killed the woman he loved.’” Owen looked away from the computer and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“The fucking Kingpin of Gotham has a hard-on for you, literally _killed_ your last ex, and you didn’t think I might want to know that before screwing you?” Owen screeched, putting his hands on his head and then sweeping them outwards. Edward winced.

“I didn’t think of that at first—”

“Well that’s obvious,” Owen interrupted, a new, crueler lilt to his voice Edward hadn’t ever heard before. “You know what else you didn’t think of?” Edward bit his lip and shook his head.

“You put my family at risk! That psycho abducted you outside of my father’s house. What if he had come outside? He might be dead now, or worse! What if my sister was there visiting, or— God forbid— my niece? Now Oswald knows where my dad lives, now they’re all at risk if you piss him off and he thinks he can use us to get to you.”

“I don’t know what to say to you, Owen. I wasn’t thinking about that and I’m sorry—”

“That’s it?” Owen said, disgust on his face. “That’s all you have to say to me? You lied about everything, Edward, you lied about who you are. Was anything you said to me the truth?” Edward’s lip shook without his permission, and he bit it again, shaking his head.

“You’re sick,” Owen whispered. “Get out of my apartment.”

“Okay,” Edward said, shutting down. He didn’t feel like he was inside of his body any longer, drifting towards the closet for his suit and distantly checking that the roll of cash was still in the pocket. He breezed out of the room and over to Grundy.

“We’re going to go stay somewhere else tonight,” Edward said, his voice sounding muffled to his own ears, like he was three rooms away. Owen was watching them from the hall. Edward took the key to the apartment out of his pocket and placed it in the bowl by the door, where Owen usually kept it. He opened the door and ushered Grundy through, then looked back at Owen.

“Thank you,” he said, closing the door without waiting for an answer.

***

“Owen kicked me out,” Edward said, point blank. Lee sighed, grabbed her purse, and walked past him through the door.

“Are you coming?” she asked impatiently, walking into the waiting room. Grundy was in his usual spot as Lee began to close up. “I was planning on taking the rest of the day off after getting abducted, Cherry doesn’t mind. I called Jen and she’s willing to come in and make some extra cash under the table.”

“Um, where are we going?” Edward asked.

“You’re staying with me,” Lee said. “I think we could both use some emotional support after what happened today.” Edward scoffed. Lee was clearly fine, he was the one who needed a serious emotional crutch right now. Lee was just being nice by saying it was for her benefit as well. Edward pondered that for a moment. Either she was just being nice, which gave him a warm feeling all on its own, or she actually wanted his company, which was an equally nice feeling.

“Thank you,” Edward said. He probably could have found a hotel room with the money he had, but this was a nice alternative. “I kind of just wanted to… to talk about it.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Lee said, tossing him a small smile over her shoulder. He found it in himself to smile back. “Cherry!”

“What?!” Cherry yelled back from the balcony.

“I’m leaving!”

“See you tomorrow!”

“Now we’re good to go,” Lee said, putting her hand on the small of Edward’s back. It was a small comfort, and a much appreciated one.

“Grundy didn’t like man,” Grundy said to Edward. Edward supposed this was a typical post-breakup line to hear from a friend, but it was somewhat strange coming from a friend like Grundy.

“Why’s that?” Edward asked. They walked outside, heading toward Lee’s car.

“Man didn’t like Grundy,” Grundy said. Well, Edward couldn’t say that Owen had liked him, no.

“I’m going to get you so drunk,” Lee said, starting the car. “It’ll be great.” Edward wasn’t sure he was prepared to lose his sobriety with Lee. She was already skilled at getting him to overshare while sober. It was a short drive to Lee’s apartment, and not only was it huge, it was _nice_.

“Guest bedroom’s over there if you want to put your stuff away,” Lee said, eyeing his suit. Edward nodded, leaving to do just that. It was a very nice room, he almost didn’t want to disturb anything. When he emerged, Grundy was in his customary position on the couch in front of the television. It was a miracle he could still operate anything as delicate as a remote.

“I was going to make dinner, wanna help?” Lee said, pulling ingredients out.

“I’d love to.”

***

An hour later they’re halfway through dinner, wine-drink and bubbly. They’d started in on a bottle while they cooked, Edward in charge of all the sides while Lee dealt with the main. Grundy had already inhaled his portion and excused himself from the table. Edward found himself feeling a little nostalgic.

“Remember the last time we had dinner together?” Edward asked. It seemed like a lifetime ago. His conversation with Jim on the very subject already a decade old or more.

“Mhmm, we did fondue. You and Kristen were so adorable,” Lee said, smiling fondly. Edward smiled back, feeling a little bit of the warmth from that night seep back into his bones. Lee’s smile faded.

“Why did you do it, Edward?” Lee whispered. Edward looked away.

“It started with Tom Dougherty,” he said. “I found out he was hitting Miss Kringle and I confronted him about it in the GCPD.” Lee put her fork down.

“You could have told me about that,” Lee said. “She was my friend too.”

“I know, I just didn’t want her to be mad at me. I thought I could get Tom to be better to her. After Arnold, after all the other guys, she deserved a good thing. She deserved to be treated like… like someone you love. And Tom wasn’t treating her that way.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t listen,” Lee said. Edward shook his head. “What did you do after you spoke to him in the GCPD?”

“I found Kristen’s address and went to her apartment,” Edward admitted.

“Ed,” Lee admonished.

“I know, I’m a creep, whatever. Someone had to stop it, though, and none of our officers would have. You know how they are. Band of brothers, or whatever. Cops don’t turn on each other,” Edward said. “Not ever.”

“What happened?” Lee asked.

“You probably won’t believe me,” Edward said.

“Why would you bother lying to me?” Lee asked. “You’ve already been to trial for this, and I already know you killed him. How it happened isn’t going to mitigate my feelings about it, same as everything else you’ve done, and you know that. Tell me what happened.” Edward took a deep breath.

“Tom was stumbling to the door. I got out of the car and went over to him, and the stench confirmed for me that he was drunk. We had words, and he punched me. He punched me again so hard I couldn’t breathe, and I wound up on my knees. I had a pocket knife on me and took it out. I was hoping he’d stop once he saw that I had a knife, but I didn’t get a chance to threaten him by saying I had one. He grabbed me by my coat and pulled me up towards him. I didn’t want him to hit me again, it was just instinct. I stabbed him somewhere in his stomach. It almost… it took me a second to realize what had happened. When I did… I knew I had to end it. For my own sake. Even if he didn’t kill me right then, it would have been his word against mine, and I would have lost. I stabbed him until he was dead.” Lee sat back.

“Kristen got a note from him,” Lee said.

“I dissolved his body in acid, pulverized his bones and then wrote the note so no one would look for him and realize he was truly missing. Just ‘away’. I couldn’t help but… leave a clue when I did. It wasn’t a coincidence that the first letter of every line spelled out my name. I think that’s when I started to really lose it.”

“What do you mean?” Lee asked.

“All my life there’s been this… better, stronger version of me in my head. He has more charisma, but he’s also very… pushy. He told me once that I’d do better with Kristen if she was afraid of me.” Lee moves her chair closer to him and places her hand on his knee.

“You never said anything about him during the trial,” Lee said. “You said you lost time… afterwards. Was that him?” Edward nodded.

“That night, Kristen was worried that Tom would come back to town, because he told her once that if he ever saw her with another man he would kill her. I told her not to worry about it, and she said I couldn’t take him on, that I wasn’t a fighter…” Edward pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “I told her it had been taken care of, but she didn’t believe me. She didn’t think I could protect her, and I had to prove it to her. I told her what happened. Tom assaulted me, I stabbed him, and he died.” Edward laughed to himself.

“She thought I was joking! She really thought I was that pathetic, that I couldn’t even keep her safe.” Edward took a deep breath. “I kept his badge after I did it. I don’t know why. I showed it to her.”

“I’m guessing she didn’t react the way you expected her to,” Lee said.

“No… No, she was very upset. Earlier she’d called him a monster, but that didn’t seem to matter. She called me a sicko, a psychopath. I just needed her to understand that I did it because I loved her, but she wasn’t listening. She slapped me, hit me over the head with a vase. I kept trying to reason with her, but then she went to the door and told me I was going to prison.”

“So, you had to stop her,” Lee said.

“No!” Edward said. “It wasn’t like that. I couldn’t let that be the last thing said between us, she— she said I was going to prison, where they would do horrible things to me. Things that I deserve.”

“Kristen?” Lee said, disbelief coming over her face for the first time during Edward’s implausible tale.

“It didn’t make sense to me either. I knew she didn’t mean that, that if I could just get her to listen she’d take it back, that she didn’t actually want… something like _that_ to happen to me. She would never wish that on anyone. She called me a freak, and I finally grabbed her arm when she tried to get out of the door. But then she started screaming for help…” Edward trailed off, tears coming to his eyes as he remembered his next mistake in vivid detail.

“I put my… I put one hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming. And then… held my other hand over her _neck_ ,” Edward chocked out, his voice cracking on the final word, tears spilling over. “I should have known better, I know all about reflexes. Squeeze with one hand, so does the other. Sympathetic contraction. I should never have touched her neck. I don’t even know how much she heard. I must have crushed her windpipe. She couldn’t breathe. She died standing there while I told her I’d never hurt her, that I loved her—” he couldn’t go on. He pulled his glasses off and cried into his hands.

“I didn’t mean to make you rehash all of this now,” Lee said, moving touching his shoulders. “ I’m sorry. You’ve had a long day. We can talk about what happened after… later.” Edward lets out another hiccupping sob.

“I didn’t mean to kill her,” Edward whispers, furiously wiping away his tears. “You have to believe me, I loved her.”

“I believe you, Edward,” Lee said. “It was an accident. But Kristen is still dead because you killed her. Her death was quite literaly at your hands. I don’t think you ever really processed your grief over that. I want to talk about this more in the morning. Not to mention what happened with Pyg, with Oswald, with Owen… and that’s just today. You’re dealing with a lot right now.”

“Grundy friend sad?” Grundy asked. Edward hadn’t even heard him get up over the sound of his own crying.

“Yes Grundy, I’m very sad,” Edward said. Was this what his life had come to? His only friend was the reanimated corpse of a man who formerly hated him. Suddenly, Lee was hugging him.

Oh.

Grundy’s arms surrounded them both, and Edward found himself being pulled into the first group hug of his life. It was quite nice, actually. He sniffled pathetically and tried to get his arms around them in return, but mostly he just ended up squished in the middle.

“Better?” Grundy asked. Edward laughed.

“Much better.”

***

He was strapped to a chair. There were pigs running around him, squealing like children. He was screaming, but no one could hear him or help him. Professor Pyg was in front of him suddenly. He stepped forward and tapped Edward’s forehead.

“Open up,” he cooed. He took hold of Edwards hair and pulled his skull open, holding the top of Edward’s head in his hand. Edward admired the neatness of the cut. He couldn’t have done it better himself. Then Pyg was reaching into his head, and he pulled Edward’s brain out. Distantly, Edward wondered how he was seeing his brain when the brain was responsible for sight. His brain wasn’t gray, or pink, it was black. It was rotting. It turned to goo in Pyg’s hands and dripped over his gloves and onto the floor.

“It’s no good,” Pyg said, “not salvageable.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” Edward protested. The pig mask had a red wig and lipstick, now. It mocked him.

“You’re a freak!” it oinked and squealed. “A freak!”

_You’re sick,_ a dark voice whispered. Then another: _Who could ever love a freak like you?_

“Friend?” A quizzical voice asked, breaking through the dark just as a figure with a hooked nose came out of the shadows to torment him.

“Grundy friend?” a hand shook him, and the specters of his dreams disappeared as he woke.

“Grundy?” Edward asked. Why was he in his room?

“Hurts?” Grundy asked, patting over Edward’s body like he was searching for a wound. Edward pushed his hands away.

“No, not there,” Edward said. He tapped his forehead. “Here. I had a bad dream.” Grundy looked around the room.

“No one in here?” Grundy asked, clearly hoping for something he could hit that would make Edward feel better.

“No, there’ll all up here,” Edward said. Although… come to think of it. Perhaps Grundy could do something for him. This bed was a queen size, after all. Edward scooted across the mattress. “Would you mind staying in here with me? It’s no couch, but…”

“Grundy help,” Grundy said, climbing into the bed. “Fight the bad dreams.” He sat back against the headboard, eyes scanning the room and alert. 

“Thanks, buddy,” Edward said. He put his head down on the pillow, then thought better of it. Shuffling closer to Grundy, he threw an arm over his legs and hugged himself to them, pillowing his face on Grundy’s thigh. “Wow, you smell bad. Is this okay?” Grundy pet his hair.

“Feel better?” Grundy asked.

“Very,” Edward said.

“Then very okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if you want to see more of something, it's a good idea to leave a comment if you can. I really appreciate them. Hope you enjoyed <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee continues Edward's therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edward needs so much therapy... it goes into next chapter, then there's some more plot... and then there's going to have to be another debrief later after other stuff... Sigh. I hope you enjoy picking apart Edward's psyche as much as I do, 'cause there's gonna be a lot of that.

Edward slept for quite a while, which seemed to be becoming normal for him. When he woke, he was still on Grundy’s thigh, and there was a slight crick in his neck. The rest he got, however, was well worth it. He feels good. Looking above himself, he can see that Grundy had slept sitting up. Strange to think that this face had once terrified him, but was now a comfort to see.

“’Morning big guy,” Edward yawned. Grundy snorted and blinked, peering down at him. “First things first: You need a scrub-down.”

Edward spent half an hour and went through two hand towels scraping Grundy’s skin clean in the bath, which he drained on three occasions— the water became so filthy. He wondered if he’d have had more success with a brillo pad. He tasked Grundy with cleaning his privates, mostly because Edward didn’t even want to _think_ about how nasty they must be. His feet had been off-putting enough. So much swamp sludge went down the drain Edward was afraid he’d have to snake it later. Thankfully, it did not back up. Grundy was toweled off, and it was then that Edward realized he didn’t want to put Grundy in the same dirty clothes he’d been wearing.

“Crud. Okay, here,” Edward said, wrapping the towel around Grundy’s waist. “Go wait in our room, I’m going to go shopping and get you something clean to wear.” Grundy obeyed, and Edward cleaned out the bathtub of any remaining gook and swamp sludge.

“You’re up late,” Lee said, sitting with breakfast and coffee in the kitchen.

“Uh, yeah. I’ve been sleeping a lot. I need to make a run to the store, be right back,” he said, slipping through the door as quickly as he’d emerged. He bought extra-large everything for Grundy and guessed a shoe size for new boots. He could return them if they didn’t fit, bring Grundy back with him in the old ones to actually try some on. It was when he finally came across the section stocked with underwear that he remembered to buy his own. The whole adventure took him about an hour round trip, and he also bought some slacks, shirts and a new suit jacket for himself. He purchased different colored socks for himself than he had for Grundy— dark green to the other man’s black— so they could tell them apart. When he returned, he had to knock for Lee to let him in.

“I have to be at the club in an hour, unless you want to do our session here,” Lee said.

“Here is fine,” Edward said. “Just a minute.” He booked it to their room, where Grundy was sleeping on the bed wearing the towel.

“Wakey wakey,” Edward said, rousing him by shaking his shoulder. He tore open the package of underwear for Grundy, tossing that, a pair of pants and a white tank top on the bed. Grundy put his new clothing on, and Edward grabbed the finishing touch from another bag. A nice, new black jacket to replace the grungy old one. He held it open for Solomon to slip into, pulling it up his shoulders for him and smoothing it out.

“Looks good,” Edward said. “Are you happy with it?” Grundy decided to forgo words and hug him instead. Oh, he smelled _much_ better now.

“Ed Grundy best friend,” Grundy said.

“Of course,” Edward said. Perhaps it was time to start piecing together what had happened to him. “Let’s go get something to eat. Try on these boots. Oh! And here’s some socks.” Grundy put on the socks and boots, and Edward knelt and tied his laces for him.

“Here, stand up. Walk around. Do they feel good?”

“Very good,” Grundy said. Edward gave him a thumbs-up, which Grundy slowly mimicked. “Alright, food.” They were almost out of the door when Lee called them.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To get some breakfast,” Edward said. “Did you want to come?”

“I already made you breakfast,” Lee said, exasperated. “Get back in here.” Well, Edward wasn’t one to turn down free food. He headed into the dining room, where Lee had set up plates stacked with waffles, eggs, sausages, bacon and maple syrup. Edward felt himself salivating at the sight alone.

“Wow, thanks Lee,” Edward said, taking a seat.

“Eat up, we talk in twenty minutes,” Lee reminded him. “Want some coffee?”

“I’d love some,” he said. 

“Then get some,” she said. “I’m going to make a pharmacy run, don’t destroy my home.” Grundy nodded, cheeks bulging with food.

“We’ll try,” Edward said, getting up to pour himself some coffee. Lee returned promptly, bags of drugs in hand. By then, Edward had washed the dishes, and Grundy engrossed in Looney Tunes. Edward finished what was in his mug and poured himself another.

“Hungover?” Lee asked.

“A little,” Edward admitted. Lee rooted through the bags and opened a large bottle, tapping out a pill into her palm.

“Ibuprofen,” she said, handing to him. Edward took it with a sip of coffee. “Want to talk on the couch?”

“Sure,” Edward said. Lee grabbed a clipboard from her bag and went first, taking the armchair. Edward carefully held his coffee and settled himself into Grundy’s lap— who seemed to hardly notice— and continued watching cartoons over his head. Lee raised an eyebrow.

“I like being held,” Edward said. “Sue me.”

“Alright,” Lee said, raising her hands in surrender and then leaning forward more seriously. “Hit me with it. What happened after you realized Kristen was dead?”

“I still don’t remember,” Edward answered honestly. “I remember crying, I think I might have yelled or screamed. I sat there for hours just… cradling her body. Or maybe it was minutes. I can’t say for sure. And then… I woke up.”

“Had you dreamt at all?” Lee asked.

“No, I didn’t. But I woke up dressed for work, and my clothing wasn’t really on right. He was waiting for me when I woke up.”

“He has a physical manifestation?” Lee asked him, her tone too casual to _truly_ be casual.

“I see him, yes. He’s exactly like me, but he doesn’t wear glasses. He also likes darker suits,” Edward said, trying to describe him.

“He _likes_ darker suits?” Lee asked him, calling attention to his poor word choice.

“I don’t know if I could say really say that… he _wears_ darker suits,” Edward said. “Obviously he’s just a hallucination, he doesn’t _like_ anything.”

“Doesn’t he have a personality, Ed?” Lee asked him. “Shouldn’t that mean that he _is_ able to like things?”

“His personality is one I manufactured,” Edward said. “That’s all there is to it.” Lee looked skeptical.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Why did you ‘manufacture’ him that way?” Lee asked. Edward had answered this already.

“I told you. He’s stronger, smarter. He doesn’t care about anyone, doesn’t need anyone. He knows his worth without any of that, and he’s confident. It also makes him cruel, but I guess that’s just what it takes to survive in a cruel world,” Edward concluded, leaning back against Grundy.

“So, he needs to be that way because people are cruel?” Lee asked, tilting her head.

“Of course!” Edward exclaimed. “Everyone is just using each other or hurting each other. If you don’t want to get hurt you can’t have any connections, you have to be independent of others.”

“Isn’t that isolating?” Lee questioned, posing it like a philosopher might.

“Isolation is preferable to being hurt,” Edward snapped. Like it was even a choice. “I would rather be alone than be abused.”

“Were you abused, Edward?” Lee asked, and suddenly Edward realized exactly what she had done. He was verbally in check by the psychiatrist, and if this was a game of chess he’d be losing terribly.

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Edward said. “It’s not relevant.”

“I think it is,” Lee calmly insisted. “I think that’s the reason you made this darker version of yourself. How long has he been with you, Edward?” Edward paused.

“Since I was seven, maybe,” Edward confessed. “He used to… he used to take beatings for me, deal with the worst of it. He could do it because he was stronger than me. I don’t want to go into details, but he was around a lot.” Lee looked very troubled by the admission. “Later, when I was a teenager, he wasn’t around as much, but he liked to give me advice about how to behave from time to time. Only… only he started to sound like my father, and I resented him for it. He kept it up through college, but I saw less of him. People were generally nice to me in college.”

“So he didn’t have to be around as much,” Lee assumed.

“Precisely! Unless I got… upset or overwhelmed. Every time the stress got to be too much, and I broke down and cried, he’d be there, reminding me that Pop had taught us to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and be a man,” Edward said. “I don’t know when he started taking Pop’s side, started acting like him. It was probably gradual. It made me hate him when I was meant to want to be him.”

“He started to act more like your father?” Lee asked him, worry in her brow.

“I suppose you could say that, yes. Or more like… like who my father would want me to be. A man’s man. The kind of guy he said I never could be,” Edward explained.

“You mentioned earlier that this version of you is also smarter. Following your explanation, I have to wonder: did your father doubt that?” Edward laughed darkly.

“Oh, my intelligence was the main reason he’d hurt me.” Lee’s eyes widened involuntarily. “If I did well I was a cheater, if I did poorly I was proving his point. I could never prove to him that I was intelligent, and if I insisted that I _was_ — which I often did— he’d call me a liar and then use that as an excuse to beat me bloody.”

“Would you say that the version of you that you were seeing was someone your father would approve of?” Edward thought carefully about it… and was disturbed by how accurate it seemed to be.

“I… think he would, yes,” Edward whispered. Had he really just been trying all this time to please his father? He was meant to _hate_ the man, not secretly long for his approval and affection.

“You mentioned earlier that this hallucination gave you advice about Kristen… looking back, are there similarities between that and the advice your father might have given you.” Edward was dumbstruck. He swallowed around the sudden dryness in his mouth.

“He… he’d say the same sort of thing about my mother. Or when he’d talk to me about girls. That women needed a heavy hand, that they had to be a little afraid of their husbands or they’d start getting a smart mouth. I never made the connection.” He felt so _stupid_.

“It’s difficult to analyze ourselves,” Lee said. “We sometimes have to admit things that are ugly to do it, and it’s not easy. That’s why I’m here to help you, Edward.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Edward sobbed unexpectedly. Even after all this time, he couldn’t get out of his father’s shadow. It was frustrating beyond belief that his father still controlled him, that his approval still mattered to him. He hadn’t seen the man in over a decade! Edward hugged himself, and then Grundy wrapped his arms around him. Edward jumped, he’d forgotten that he’d been seated on top of him.

“I think you’ve been suffering from dissociative identity disorder,” Lee calmly stated. “There no exact formula for it, but there seems to be a similarity among of lot of people who suffer from it in that they had very traumatic childhoods.”

“I’m a crazy person,” Edward laughed manically, shuddering against Grundy. 

“You may have a personality disorder,” Lee said, leaning forward. “But you aren’t crazy. Calm down.” Edward sniffed and rubbed at his nose. Grundy pet his hair.

“Grundy friend not crazy,” Grundy told him solemnly.

“Kristen was right about me,” Edward said, wiping at his eyes. “She was right to call me a psycho, a sicko, a freak. I should have just let her leave.”

“We can’t change any of that now,” Lee said, “but I can help you get better. Walk me through the rest of that day. Tell me what he said to you when you woke up.”

Edward took her through that day, through the clues and the riddles he’d apparently left for himself. He tried to distance himself from the panic he’d felt running around the precinct looking for any sign as to where Kristen’s body had gone. Leslie already knew that he’d brought her into the M.E.’s office and dismembered her there; it was a large part of his insanity plea. What she didn’t know was the part his other self had played. He could tell as he spoke that it still pained her to have believed him, that she hadn’t pushed harder to find out about his troubles.

Lee was intrigued by his account of how he’d finally merged with his personality, the way his other self had used Kristen’s death as a catalyst to accepting his bleaker vision of love as a weakness. The way he’d convinced Edward that the thrill of almost being caught for his crime was beautiful; that the end result was worth his horror at the commission of it and the fear of being caught. Edward had always had a taste for getting away with things, being able to outsmart and outwit others with them none the wiser. Getting away with murder was by far his greatest accomplishment with Dougherty, and then he’d been even closer to being caught after Kristen. Edward could tell there was a certain intellectual interest to Lee regarding the proceedings, perhaps because he’d merged with his personality through additional trauma of a different variety than had first created him.

“Alright, here’s what I’m left wondering,” Lee said. “You said that you enjoy the thrill— the ‘rush’ of almost being caught… but you were ultimately convicted of both of those crimes. How do you reconcile that?”

“I…” Edward had always just seen that as a fluke. Jim Gordon had only unraveled his entire web of lies through a single piece of knowledge that Edward had not been privy to. “I think I’ve changed what does that for me, a bit. I’m obviously not doing things like that now but… after Arkham it was less about not getting caught and more about proving how much smarter I was than everyone else. You probably heard of the whole scandal with the Red Hood Gang?” Lee nodded.

“When you exposed Butch Gilzean in a… rather dramatic fashion,” Lee commented.

“Thank you,” Edward said, taking it as a compliment. “I would rather people know what I’ve accomplished than just get away with it. Which means doing things that are worth having recognition for, worth taking credit for. Nothing so base as murder.”

“You killed seven people after Oswald disappeared and took full responsibility. One of those was quite _staged_ ,” Lee pointed out.

“It wasn’t about killing them, though,” Edward explained. “Their deaths were just a part of a greater scheme. I’m not interested in killing for the thrill of it, never have been. I’m not really a serial killer in the more traditional sense, though I certainly am one _technically_. As I said before, it was the rush of nearly getting caught. For a while, I wanted to enjoy the rush of nearly getting caught for other, more… grandiose things. No one applauds a murder.”

“But they would applaud three bank robberies in one day?” Lee asked.

“Exactly!” Edward said, sweeping his arms out and elbowing Grundy in the head. “Sorry, buddy. I’m pleased you heard about that. Even you can find it in yourself to admit that was pretty impressive, I’m sure.”

“It was certainly a record breaker,” Lee allowed. Edward supposed it was difficult to navigate providing unconditional positive regard for a patient, and avoiding the encouragement of negative behaviors. Edward did not envy her task of sorting his head out. He knew he certainly didn’t have a grip on it.

“Anyways, that’s what I’d prefer to get away with. Things that will make people stop and say… ‘Wow, that sure must be one clever guy’,” Edward said.

“You must realize that you can do good and get that kind of recognition,” Lee said.

“Dr. Thompkins,” Edward said, “I wouldn’t have agreed to your terms if I didn’t think that would work. I want to make it work.”

“I know I can help you with this,” Lee said. “I just need to clarify one more thing: you’ve never hallucinated anything other than the version of yourself you described to me, correct?”

“That’s not correct,” Edward said softly. Lee tilted her head.

“Are there other version of you you’ve seen?” Lee asked him.

“No, just the one. I’ve seen Miss Kringle, and I’ve seen Oswald. That’s it.”

“What happened when you saw them?” Lee asked, quickly scribbling on her clipboard.

“I had just gotten into my relationship with Isabella,” Edward explained. “She had similar looks to Kristen, but one morning she put on a pair of reading glasses that made her look just like her. I’d never seen her wear them before. I panicked, and went into her bathroom. Kristen appeared and told me that I was going to kill Isabella just like I killed her.”

“Was that the reason why you panicked and left?” Lee asked him.

“Yes, I think so,” Edward said. “Well, I just wanted a minute to myself to process… I hadn’t really processed how much she looked like Kristen until she put her glasses on. Maybe I was just in denial about it until that moment, trying to focus on how they were different. But I couldn’t deny it after that, and with it came new… concerns.”

“How did you deal with it?” Lee asked.

“I asked Oswald to break up with her for me.” Lee’s eyes widened.

“Is that when he killed her?”

“No!” Edward exclaimed. “No, nothing so extreme as that. He went and talked to her and then came back and told me her position on the matter, which was that she refused to end the relationship.” Lee’s eyes narrowed.

“What do you mean?” Lee asked.

“She said that she’d fight for me… I don’t know precisely how. Oswald just told me that she wouldn’t give up.” Lee frowned, then made a note on her clipboard.

“What’s the look for?” Edward asked. He could tell Lee was concealing something.

“How long were you together?” Lee asked.

“Only about a week at that point,” Edward said.

“You were together for a week and she refused to have an amicable breakup when you wanted one?” Lee restated.

“She deserved to have me do it in person,” Edward said. “Asking Oswald to break up with her for me was… cowardly. But I was afraid of hurting her. It was the safest option.”

“What convinced you to continue the relationship?’ Lee asked.

“When I went to her apartment, she was waiting for me. She came out of the bathroom dressed exactly like Kristen.” Lee’s draw dropped, and Edward stared at his hands as he finished recounting what happened that night. “I tried to leave but she dragged me back. I was so focused on getting away from her before something happened… she slapped me to get my attention. Told me to look at her, that she knew I wouldn’t hurt her. The she put my hands on her neck. I don’t know if I even applied any pressure, but she said my name like she couldn’t breathe.” Edward took a deep breath, pushing his terror from that moment aside.

“Then I kissed her. She was completely fine; I hadn’t hurt her at all. We made love for the first and last time that night.” He looked up— the memory bittersweet in its recounting— only to find Lee staring at him with a look of horror.

“What?” Edward said, looking up at Grundy and then back at her. Lee shook her head.

“We have a lot to discuss,” Lee said. “And not enough time for today. I want to pick this up with you after the club closes tonight, alright?”

“Okay,” Edward said quietly, wondering what he’d done wrong with Isabella that had made Lee look so horrified. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT DID HE DO WRONG? I guess Lee will say her piece next chapter. It's already written and encompasses what I want to happen in tonight's episode. I was planning on posting it before the episode aired but I fell behind a day and I'm not posting two chapters in one day again. All well. Hope you enjoyed and thought this made sense. I've always thought of Dark Ed as being the specter of toxic masculinity for Ed, the kind of alpha male Edward probably wanted to be to please his father and fit in at school/the GCPD but could never really swing cause... well, he's a nerd at heart. Time to realize the origins of that desire (which I totally made up because I can) and to let it go, because the people who wanted that from him (i.e. his father) were super shitty and he shouldn't have felt the need to change for them. 
> 
> Take home message: be yourself. otherwise the image of who you think other people want you to be will follow you around saying horrible things, and then hijack your body while you're asleep and steal your dead girlfriend. :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee and Edward finish their chat. Edward brings a new performance into the ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much happens in this chapter. So much plot.

Heading to the fight club that day meant getting his fitting for the new suit he’d designed, which had of course been approved by Cherry. He stepped into her office, and nearly turned around and walked right back out.

Emmett was speaking with her, a large black case on the desk and alongside the designs for the suit.

“I’ll give you the office,” Cherry said. “How long will it take?”

“About a half hour,” Emmett said. Edward knew from experience that measurements didn’t take that long. He also knew he was a dead man. Cherry closed the door behind her, and to Edward it sounded like the closing of a tombstone.

“Come here,” Emmett said, walking towards him. Edward put his hands up, only to find them being crushed between himself and Emmett as the other man drew him into a tight hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” Edward said softly. “Um, I don’t know if you heard—”

“Oh, I heard,” Emmett said. “Gave Owen an earful about it, too. Where are you staying?”

“With Lee, but I’m going to find an apartment for Grundy and I,” Edward said.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Emmett said. “I don’t think that boy did right by you.”

“He had every right,” Edward insisted. “I lied to him.”

“You’re a nice boy,” Emmett said. “I know what you’ve done, and I’ve got my own opinions on it. All I need to know is: did you care about him?”

“I do,” Edward admitted.

“Then you’re alright by me. Let’s get started on this thing. You’re gonna blind me early when I see you in it under the lights.”

***

The rest of the fitting was uneventful, and they didn’t talk about Owen. Edward was grateful for that, and that Emmett wasn’t going to cut him off. He enjoyed the older man’s company, his jovial nature. Fight night went well with Grundy, as always, and at the end of the night Cherry handed him a roll of money. His own wages, and his champion’s.

“Where did you go earlier?” Edward asked, sitting down across from Lee to finish their discussion. He’d noticed her duck out of the club in a rush between rounds, which wasn’t like her.

“I had to run to the pharmacy. Clinic was low on supplies,” Lee explained. She didn’t meet his eyes.

“You need money, don’t you?” Edward asked her. Lee’s eyes snapped up to his face, her mouth a firm, unhappy line. “Look, I know you want this to be a free clinic and all, but you’re really helping me out—”

“I won’t take your money,” Lee said.

“At least let me reimburse you for room and board,” Edward said, trying a tentative smile. Lee paused, considering it.

“Alright,” she said. Edward took the roll of money and gave her half of the stack. Lee’s eyes widened, and she didn’t reach for it. Edward stood, pinching the clip on her board and sliding the money into it. He went back to his chair and sat.

“There’s something else I want to request,” Edward said. “I want to see if there’s any record of Butch being hospitalized; can you find out?”

“I’ll call around,” Lee said. “Why would you think he was?”

“I don’t, but it’s the easiest way to find a lead as to what happened to him. I can’t currently get into any police reports, and who’s to say they’re accurate anyways? Cops lie.” Edward shrugged, leaning back into his chair.

“I want to talk about Isabella some more,” Lee said. “You mentioned that she dressed up as Kristen to do some sort of… exposure therapy… role play… whatever. But I could have sworn you told me she was a librarian.”

“She was,” Edward said. “And what she did… it helped. At least, in the time we had left. She was killed that night.” Lee looked very alarmed, taping her pen like she wanted to jot something down but had no idea what.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” she settled on. “You’ve been through a lot of trauma. Now, the last thing I want is to besmirch her memory to you, particularly because this was the last interaction you had with her, but…” she trailed off uncertainty.

“But what?” Edward said, already on the defensive. Lee noticed his change in body language, sitting up straighter.

“Edward, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but what Isabella did that night wasn’t right. She should not— under any circumstances— have done that,” Lee said, keeping her tone even and reasonable. Edward hated it.

“Isabella helped me, she showed me that I wouldn’t hurt her and that we could be together. That I could be _normal_ ,” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, “normal again. She was my second chance.”

“Ed, I’m going to level with you. I think you heaped way too much meaning onto a very new relationship. I also think that what Isabella did to you was abusive and manipulative, despite whether or not her _intentions_ were good.” She stared Edward down, and he clenched his jaw, righteous indignation on Isabella’s behalf making him shake in his seat.

“Isabella was my _everything_ ,” Edward insisted, fists balled up.

“No, she was a substitute for Kristen Kringle. Whether she meant to or not, Isabella strongly associated herself with Kristen, cementing herself as your second chance to be with her. But guess what, Edward? Kristen was one of a kind, and she was still dead when you met Isabella, when you kissed her, when you slept with her,” Lee said, her tone verging onto argumentative as she leaned forward in her chair.

“She was more than a second chance to be with Kristen,” Edward insisted, his eyes stinging. “She was a second chance to be a normal guy. Someone who has a girlfriend and goes on dates and gets married and has children. She was a second chance at love, _real_ love.”

“What she did was ignore your wishes to break up, physically assault you, and force you to relive the most traumatic moment of your life,” Lee said, rattling off facts. “That doesn’t sound like love to me.”

“It wasn’t like that, you’re taking it out of context,” Edward said. “She was helping me.”

“She could have taken you to a _real_ therapist and gotten you _real_ help,” Lee said. “Isabella was not perfect, Edward. Neither was Kristen, for that matter. You can’t put Isabella up on a pedestal and deny the mistakes she made,” Lee said, her tone much more calm and persuasive now. Edward could see her point, even if he didn’t like it.

“Alright, maybe she didn’t handle the breakup in the best way,” Edward grudgingly admitted.

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Lee said, sitting back. _Just like that?_ Edward wondered. He’d been expecting a further lecture on what had happened. “I want to talk about what you said, that she was a second chance at ‘real’ love for you. What does that mean to you?”

“Love is… putting someone else’s needs before your own,” Edward said, quietly.

“That’s not what you said earlier,” Lee pointed out. “What does getting married and having children have to do with it?”

“You know what I mean,” Edward huffed.

“Explain it to me,” Lee said. He sighed.

“Isabella was a chance to be normal, like I said. To love someone and be the person I’d always wanted to be, that no one ever expected me to be.”

“What do you mean by that?” Lee asked.

“I mean… I mean that’s what everyone expects, isn’t it? The white picket fence, two point five kids and a dog.”

“That’s not how it has to be,” Lee said. “You can love someone without any of that, it’s all superficial.”

“I know that!” Edward said. “I just… wanted to fit in.”

“Don’t bother,” Lee said. “Your goal in life should be to be _happy_ , not to fit some stereotype.”

“I guess…” Edward said. “But it would have been nice.”

“Nice, but not necessary,” Lee insisted. “Edward, Isabella was by no means your last chance at real love. You know that, don’t you?” He shuffled awkwardly in his seat, rubbing his thumb and index finger together.

“I guess.”

“Don’t guess,” Lee firmly commanded. “You don’t have to cut yourself off from relationships, Edward.”

“I know that!” he said. “I quite literally _just had_ a relationship, thank you.”

“I think you sabotaged that,” Lee said. “I don’t think you ever intended on being committed to Owen.” Edward flushed.

“I care about him,” Edward said.

“I don’t doubt that,” Lee said. “But I also think you were treating him like a rebound, and you didn’t care about lying to him because you never expected it to last long anyways. In fact, you haven’t seemed all that torn up about it.”

“You!” Edward cut himself off, fuming. He took a deep breath and considered the possibility. “You… might be right.”

“You tried to distance yourself from him by lying, you can’t do that in genuine relationships. Which brings me to another thing…” she sighed. “I’m glad you’re trying to find out what happened to Grundy, but you need to tell the truth, or you’ll lose him too.” Edward swallowed.

“Okay.”

***

For the next week Lee instructed him to think about what they’d worked through so far, calling it an ‘emotional break’. They stuck to cognition during that time, but Lee let him know that the next thing she wanted to talk about after the break was his hallucination of Oswald, and to think a little bit about what it meant that he saw him in light of his interaction with his hallucination of Kristen. He wasn’t sure exactly what she was implying, but it was in the back of his mind during the days when he wasn’t actively thinking about it.

He saw Owen in the club all the time, but never spoke to him. If Owen wanted to talk to him, he’d have to break the silence first. It took Emmet three days to deliver his suit, and it fit like a dream. Edward had never felt better in the ring than he did wearing it.

Five days after he first asked her to look into Butch’s medical records, once of Lee’s contacts came through.

“It says he was brought into Gotham General, and that he was in a vegetative state due to a gunshot wound to the head. He was supposed to be transferred upstate, but…”

“But they dumped him in a swamp instead. Typical,” Edward said. “Any chance we can find out who did it from the medical records?” Lee shakes her head.

“Here, you can take a took,” Lee said. Edward went through the files and located the date of admission. He left Grundy with Cherry to babysit, and took a trip to the library. After a few hours of searching, he found an article. Butch was a prominent enough figure in Gotham due to his association with Oswald, and Fish before that. His shooting would not have gone without notice. In it, he found a witness statement putting Barbara ‘Queen’ at the site from a source that did not want to be named. She had apparently been found dead nearby as well. Edward felt comfortable enough in his understanding of her to make the small leap of logic that Tabitha had done the deed, after Barbara shot Butch. He’d solved his puzzle. Now it was just a matter of explaining it to Grundy.

He made a copy of Barbara’s face that he found from a mugshot of her arrest, and of Tabitha from some press releases with her brother. He found a photo of Butch from Oswald’s campaign as well. With this, his medical files, and the article, he decided he had something concrete to show Grundy. He’d just run it by Lee first.

“It makes sense,” Lee said. “Barbara kills him out of jealousy, Tabitha kills her for killing him. Want me to be there when you explain it to him?”

“If you would,” Edward said.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

***

“Do you recognize her?” Edward said, holding up a picture of Tabitha.

“Pretty lady,” Grundy said, trying to take hold of the picture. Edward pulled it out of reach.

“Do you know her?” he asked again.

“Grundy know pretty lady?” Grundy said.

“I’m asking you!” Edward exclaimed, waving the picture in his face

“He doesn’t recognize her,” Lee said, pushing Edward’s arm down. “How about her?”

Grundy examined the picture of Barbara and shook his head.

“Well, you’re in luck, buddy. Your best friend Ed found out what happened to you, just like I promised!” Edward drawled. “You used to be friends with this lady.” He held up the picture of Tabitha.

“She was friends with this lady,” Edward said, holding up Barbara’s picture.

“Friends with Grundy?” Grundy asked.

“No,” Edward said. “This one didn’t like you.”

“Why no like Grundy?” he asked, frowning.

“Because she wanted the pretty lady all to herself,” Edward said. “She hurt you, Grundy.” Grundy glared at her image, still held in Edward’s hand.

“She put Grundy in swamp?” Grundy asked. Edward shook his head.

“Her name in Barbara Kean,” Edward said. “She put a bullet in your head and put you in the hospital.”

“Ed!” Lee hissed. Had he been too blunt?

“Bad lady,” Grundy growled, glaring at her picture. “Grundy kill the bad lady.”

“Bad news on that front,” Edward said, wincing. “Turns out the pretty lady did that for you.”

“Pretty lady kill the bad lady… for Grundy?”

“Yes,” Edward said. “Her name is Tabitha Galavan, and she was very fond of you.”

“Tabitha Grundy friend,” Grundy stated.

“She was,” Edward hesitantly confirmed.

“Where is Grundy friend?” Grundy asked him.

“I don’t know,” Edward said. “She’s been lying low since Oswald took over the city. They aren’t friends. You remember Oswald?” Grundy nodded.

“Little angry man,” he said seriously. Edward couldn’t help but laugh, and even Lee snickered.

“Yes, that’s right.” He sobered. “But Grundy, even if you did meet her… I don’t know if she would still be your friend. You didn’t always look like this.” He pulled the picture of Butch from his file, and this time handed it to Grundy to examine. Grundy looked for a long time, and gave it back.

“Tabitha not Grundy friend?” Grundy asked.

“I don’t know,” Edward said. “If we found her we could ask, but I don’t know how to do that. If Tabitha doesn’t want to be found, she can’t be, and right now she doesn’t.” Grundy stood up, pulling Edward out of his seat and into a bear hug.

“Ed Grundy best friend,” Grundy said, lifting him until Edward’s toes were skimming the floor.

“That’s right buddy,” Edward said. “Can you put me down now?”

Later that night, Edward heard Grundy whispering a mantra on the couch. “Barbara Kean. Barbara Kean. Barbara Kean.”

***

In that week, Edward doesn’t hear a peep from Oswald. Lee’s instructions for his therapy meant that he was thinking of the other man almost constantly. But was Oswald thinking of him? Evidently not. Edward felt himself growing more annoyed with the other man every day, though for what reason he wasn’t sure. He had plenty to be angry about, though, didn’t he? He didn’t need a specific reason.

Two days before he’s meant to discuss his hallucination of Oswald with Lee, Edward proposes a new performance to Cherry.

***

It’s only the second day of his Penguin routine that the Sirens burst into Cherry’s Place, armed to the teeth. Edward had just delivered a punchline about the King of Gotham not being able to handle his own shit (based on his frequent struggles with the toilet when living with Edward). He was finally alerted to their presence when a lone member of the audience continued clapping long after everyone else had stopped. Upon closer examination, he saw the that the culprit was Barbara Kean, accompanied by Tabitha and street trash girl— Selina. Oh, Grundy was not going to like this. He glanced at the other man across the ring, wanting to make this as clear as possible to him.

“Barbara Kean!” Edward greeted enthusiastically. “I thought you were dead!” He quickly looked back at Grundy, whose face was contorted with rage.

“Barbara Kean!” he roared, running to Edward’s side of the ring and scanning the crowd for her. Her face became awash in horror as the crowd of patrons rushed to the walls and left the three of them exposed on the club floor.

“Butch?” Tabitha said. Grundy’s eyes locked on her, then dismissed her, his entire focus on Barbara. He jumped over the ropes, landing heavily on the floor and making the ring shudder where Edward stood. He advanced on Barbara, raising his fist. There was the crack of a whip, and Grundy’s punch was halted. Selina was braced, holding onto the other end of the whip wrapped around Grundy’s wrist. Grundy grabbed it and pulled, sending her flying across the room. Edward winced and jumped out of the ring after her, Grundy not sparing a moment before going after Barbara.

Selina was dazed but getting to her feet when Edward reached her, moving at a slow jog to see if she was okay. She was still a kid, after all. A kid who kept getting into dangerous situations, but a kid nonetheless.

“Hey, street trash girl,” he said, approaching with a smile. He slowed down to a walk as she began standing. “Are you okay—?’

Selina brought her knee into his groin, _hard_. He yelped and went to his knees, cupping himself. It had been a while since he’d been subjected to this particular humiliation. He looked up just in time to see her whip collide with his face, splendid.

He woke dizzy and scrambled to his feet, his ears ringing. His wrists were tied, and there was a gag over his mouth. Grundy was now fighting with Tabitha and Selina, Barbara nowhere to be seen. The fight club had mostly been vacated, save for the few that wanted to watch them brawl, apparently. Someone grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet.

“What the hell is going on?” Lee said, ripping the tape off of his mouth. She moved to untie his hands.

“The Sirens showed up. I’m guessing they were sent to put an end to my performance.” He couldn’t help but smile. So, Oswald _was_ paying attention. Lee finished with the knot, and his hands were freed. “Where’s Cherry?”

“Where _is_ Cherry?” Lee asked, looking around the club. Her eyes widened, and she took off without another word.

“Well alright then!” Edward called. “I guess I’ll just deal with this _alone_!”

“Butch! It’s me,” Tabitha pleaded. Butch hesitated, and Selina cracked her whip around his neck. “Selina!”

“He’s going to kill Barbara if he gets the chance,” Selina said, still choking him. “He’s not Butch, we have to end it.” Edward ran up behind her and pushed her over.

“What the hell?” Selina said, rolling over. Edward took up the end of the whip and ran to Grundy, unraveling it from his neck.

“You okay, buddy?” Edward asked him.

“He’d not your friend!” Tabitha screamed. “You hate Nygma as much as I do!”

“Ed Grundy best friend,” Grundy said.

“And what’s your excuse!” Edward fired back, “You went right back to Barbara Kean, the woman who _killed him_.”

“I loved him!” Tabitha screamed, and for a moment, Edward actually felt her anguish. Grundy ran towards her, pushing her back to the wall. He put a hand around her neck and lifted her until her feet were dangling.

“Then why did you betray him?” Edward snapped.

“Because I loved her too,” Tabitha said, a choked whisper. There were tears in her eyes, and Edward felt a sudden sympathy he couldn’t name.

“Grundy, let her go,” Edward said. He couldn’t let him kill Tabitha, knowing what they’d once had. He’d seen how much she loved him first hand. Ha, _hand_. “It’s Barbara you want.” Grundy looked at Edward, who nodded, and let go. Tabitha rubbed at her neck.

“Tell Oswald to send someone better next time,” Edward gloated. Suddenly, there was a rush of heat next to him.

“He did.” Edward whirled around. It was Firefly, one of Oswald’s main enforcers of the Pax Penguina, alongside Fries and Zsasz. This wasn’t good. She was on the second floor, in an elevated position. Grundy advanced towards her, and there was another blast of heat as she fired at him.

Selina cheered as Bridgit hit him in the forearm, setting his sleeve on fire. Grundy halted and shook his arm up and down, fanning the flames.

“Oh, crud,” Edward said, running to the bar. “Grundy, come here!” Grundy ran toward him, the flames licking up his arm. Edward grabbed the dispenser from the bar and hit the water button, hosing him down. Firefly was smiling, and Edward realized with sudden horror that she was toying with them.

“I’m calling this off!” Tabitha shouted.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Bridgit said, “and I have a job to do. Penguin wants Nygma, and he’s going to get him.”

“Selina?” Tabitha hissed under her breath. Selina sighed.

“He still wants to kill Barbara,” she argued.

“He’s got a pretty good reason,” Tabitha pointed out. Selina sighed.

“Fine.” They both squared off against Bridgit. Well, this was interesting. Edward jumped over the bar and hid behind it, beckoning Grundy to follow. His friend might be strong, but he clearly wasn’t immune to fire. Edward hunkered down behind the bar with Grundy while the ladies went at each other. He found where the barkeep kept the peanuts and gave a handful to Grundy, snacking while the occasional burst of heat came over the top of the bar. After a few minutes, Selina landed next to him in a crouch. Edward offered her a peanut, which she took.

“Bridgit left, said she wouldn’t tell Cobblepot we stabbed him in the back since we used to be friends. He’s probably gonna find out anyways, though. And he’s not gonna be happy we didn’t get you,” Selina grumbled.

“I’d recommend that you take a page out of my book and disappear into the Narrows,” Edward said. He stood, going around the bar, Grundy trailing behind him. Tabitha was waiting on the other side.

“I still hate your guts,” Tabitha spat at him. Grundy stepped forward to confront her, but Edward put his arm across his chest. “You know he tortured us, right?”

“Look, I never would have done what I did if Oswald hadn’t killed my girlfriend, and then lied about it. He helped me go after you. He manipulated me,” Edward said.

“No one _made_ you torture us,” Tabitha said.

“I thought you killed her,” Edward said. “I really did. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have happened. It was actually pretty humiliating to be wrong about that.”

“I’m still going to kill you one day,” Tabitha swore. Grundy growled under his breath. “Butch, come with me.” Grundy shook his head.

“I just saved your life!” Tabitha screamed at him, “Nygma tortured you, he hates you, he’s _using_ you!”

“Ed Grundy friend,” Grundy quietly insisted.

“So you’re just going to bring him back to Barbara and all three of you are going to shack up together again?” Edward scoffed. “Give me a break. How well did that turn out the last time?”

“Selina and I don’t need her,” Tabitha said.

“Speak for yourself,” Selina said. “Look, he isn’t even Butch anymore, and I’d rather have you and Barbara than you and the swamp thing. I’m going home.”

“Selina!” Tabitha called after her, but Selina didn’t stop walking away. She huffed and turned back to Edward, her voice a threatening steel tone. “You take care of him.”

“I will,” Edward promised. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a lot, huh? Oh and don't worry, Lee's gonna dissect the reason for Edward goading Oswald, she just has a loose end to tie up first. Hope there was something fun in here for the whole family.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lee and Edward have a long talk about Oswald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohh... new tags. Wonder what that's about...

Lee returned a moment later, dragging Cherry by her hair. The crowd had begun trickling back in after Firefly left, taking most of the danger with her. Lee marched into the ring, Cherry cursing and screaming behind her as she was forcibly thrown into the ring.

“Cherry informed on Ed,” Lee said, and the crowd immediately began booing her.

“Code of the Narrows!” a woman shouted.

“Code of the Narrows,” the crowd echoed. “Code of the Narrows!”

“Ed?” Lee asked, beckoning him into the ring. He ducked through the ropes, Grundy following.

“In the Narrows, they don’t talk to cops, and they definitely don’t like answering to crime lords. She broke the code when she snitched on me to Oswald,” Edward explained.

“Make her fight!” someone exclaimed, “That’s the code!”

“Fight to the death,” Edward interpreted for Lee. “If Cherry wins she walks, if she doesn’t… well.”

“I can’t condone that,” Lee said.

“Damn right you can’t,” Cherry hissed, turning to address the crowd. “This is my turf! I can do whatever I want, and you scum can’t do shit about it. If Penguin wants Ed, then one way or another, he’s gonna have him!” A shot rang out, and Cherry fell to the floor of the ring.

“Fuck that!” someone yelled, and the crowd roared in delight.

“Holy shit,” Lee said. She dropped down and looked for a pulse, but Cherry was already gone.

“That works too,” Edward said, laughing at the absurd situation.

“Doc!” a voice shouted from the crowd. “Doc! Doc! Doc! Doc!”

“What are they doing?” Lee said, turning to Edward and raising her voice over the shouting.

“Lee,” Edward said, with a note of disappointment at her lack of deductive reasoning. “You’re in charge now.”

“Why me?” Lee said, looking over the crowd. Perhaps she couldn’t yet fathom being a leader, Edward supposed. Regardless, she’d be a natural.

“You’re practically their patron saint,” Edward said. “Healing the sick, helping the poor, overthrowing a corrupt ruler. Don’t question it. Just accept it, and do something that will let them know their support is not misplaced.” Lee looked over the chanting crowd, and Edward could practically see the gears turning.

“Drinks on the house!” Lee proclaimed, and it was good.

***

“Do we really need to do this now?” Edward said, settling into his usual seat across from Lee in her office. “You must have more responsibilities now.”

“You’re not skipping out on this, especially not after what happened yesterday,” Lee said, taking hold of her notes. And what a day it had been. The bullet Edward had pulled out of Cherry’s skull was sitting shiny and polished on Lee’s desk. A souvenir. “We left off with the issues in your relationship with Isabella. Is there anything else you want to talk about regarding that?”

“No,” Edward said. He was still unhappy with Lee for her part in making him question their relationship, and the worst part was that he knew she was right. Edward was no happier to talk about Oswald today, and he’d been hoping to weasel out of it somehow.

“You said that Oswald killed her, can you explain what happened?” Edward detailed everything for her. The call he’s gotten the next morning, after Isabella had left for her conference, after things were finally _right_ between them. Identifying her body in the morgue; Oswald comforting him, all the while knowing that he was the cause of Edward’s pain. His subsequent grief and attempt to say goodbye, only to stumble upon a blind man with some very helpful information that led to his discovery of Isabella’s severed brake lines. He told Lee about going to Oswald for help, barely holding it together knowing that Isabella’s killer was out there. Oswald’s seemingly sincere promise to help him catch the perpetrator, and Edward’s gratitude toward his friend for being there for him.

“I went after Butch and Tabitha, with Oswald’s support. I tortured Butch, trying to get him to confess to the crime, but of course now I know that he was never guilty. I offered them both a deal. If Tabitha allowed her hand to be cut off and proved her love, I’d let them both go. If not, Butch would be killed by an electric shock. Tabitha dropped the switch and let it happen, and a few moments later Barbara came in. I was humiliated. I gave up searching; it could have been any one of Oswald’s enemies. That’s where Barbara came in.”

She’d told Edward that Oswald was in love with him, and he hadn’t believed her. Couldn’t believe her. But he owed it to Isabella find out, and oh, but he had. He described his revenge upon Oswald, the meaning behind each action: humiliating Oswald as Oswald had humiliated him, and then forcing him to view his dead loved one just as Oswald had arranged for him to see Isabella. He described his further plot to prove that Oswald didn’t love him, and the surprising twist it had taken.

“So, let me get this straight,” Lee interrupted. “He was actually willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Edward said.

“And then what?”

“I took him to the pier, and I shot him,” Edward bluntly stated.

“Why?” Lee asked.

“Because he killed her!” Edward exclaimed. “Why is that so hard to understand?”

“You gave him an out, just like you gave Butch and Tabitha,” Lee said. “A way to live if he proved that his love was good like Tabitha had. Why didn’t you follow through?”

“I didn’t make a deal with him,” Edward snapped. “His fate was sealed the moment he killed her!”

“Then why bother?” Lee asked. “Why bother having him prove he really loved you?”

“I wanted to prove that he _didn’t_ ,” Edward said. “That he was _incapable_ of love.”

“But he passed your test,” Lee said. “He proved that he loved you, Edward. Did you even process what that meant before you went through with killing him?”

“No… I didn’t— I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t want to. If I allowed myself to dwell on it he might have… he might have been able to sway me from my task, and I could _not_ let that happen.”

“Why not?” Lee asked.

“Because he killed her, therefore he _had_ to die. I couldn’t permit myself to let him go unpunished,” Edward said, leaning forward in his chair. He wanted Lee to understand.

“You could have, though,” Lee argued. “What would that have meant?”

“If I had just done nothing about it?” Edward exclaimed. Lee nodded. “That would be like saying that I hadn’t cared for Isabella at all, that it was _okay_ for Oswald to hurt me, to manipulate me, and to humiliate me.”

“You didn’t have to kill him to demonstrate that what he did to you wasn’t right. It seems to me that Oswald realized he was wrong about whether or not he’d truly loved you when he went ahead with his plan to kill Isabella.”

“He still didn’t learn,” Edward stated. “Before I shot him he insulted me, took credit for everything I’d accomplished, everything I’d become… And he never _once_ apologized for what he did.” Lee pursed her lips.

“Alright,” she said, conceding the point. “What happened afterwards, when you saw your hallucination of him?”

“I had to take over Oswald’s duties as mayor. I was struggling to keep up, and I asked Barbara to bring me some uppers. I saw Oswald for the first time a day later.”

“What was he like?” Lee asked. “You mentioned that he looked good when he was singing to you.” Edward shook his head.

“That was the only time he looked like that. The rest of the time… He was dead. He looked like he’d been dragged up from the bottom of the river, with a crustacean to match every now and again.”

“Now and again?” Lee asked, most likely attempting to quantify the number of instances.

“I… conversed with him on six occasions,” Edward clarified.

“You continued taking the pills Barbara had given you after the first time?” Lee asked.

“Yes, I— after a while it was less about their effect on me physically, and more about being able to see Oswald again,” Edward admitted.

“Why did you need to see him?” Lee asked.

“I needed to know what he was to me. I needed to deal with that. I didn’t know it at the time, but after… I realized it had been about saying goodbye,” Edward explained. “At first, I was looking for a mentor. Someone who could be to me what Oswald had been. After going through six potential candidates, I realized that what all great villains need is a nemesis. My first choice was Jim, but then Lucius Fox solved my first clue… and it all happened from there.”

“I asked you to think about this during the week, but I’ll say it again. You saw Miss Kringle because she was there to voice your inner fears. What do you think the purpose of seeing Oswald was?”

“Why does there have to be a purpose?” Edward grumbled. Lee looked sympathetic.

“You mentioned that it was about saying goodbye… but was there anything else you realized? The first time we talked about this, you said that he forced you to admit something to yourself. I didn’t want to push then, because I assumed you were only ever having drug-induced hallucinations, but I think this is important for you to process,” Lee said, her tone inviting and persuasive.

“He made me admit that… that killing him killed a part of me,” Edward recalled. “After everything that happened with Lucius, after he was able to solve one of my riddles, I realized that the point hadn’t been finding a nemesis. It had been about distracting myself from missing Oswald. I only switched from looking for a mentor to looking for a nemesis because I realized that I could never replace him. And if I couldn’t replace him, the next best thing would be to distract myself. When I was able to admit how much he’d meant to me—when I could admit to myself just how much I’d cared about him— I was finally able to let go of him. I realized the whole debacle had just been a way of holding onto Oswald a little bit longer.” Edward sighed.

“The last time I used, I went back to the pier where I shot him. I was able to put him to rest, not out of hatred and vengeance like I had the first time but out of… friendship. Affection. I don’t know that there’s a word to describe the bond that was between us. I told him that I—” his face felt wet, but he ignored it. This was important. “I cared about him, and I missed him. Because that was the truth. I threw away the rest of the pills and then he was gone. I left.”

“When he sang for you,” Lee reminded him, “Do you know what he was trying to get you to admit?”

“That was the um… ‘killing him killed a part of me’ thing,” Edward said, blushing despite himself at the memory.

“There wasn’t… anything else?” Lee pressed.

“I— I might have been actively trying to ignore the fact that I found Oswald attractive for some time,” Edward confessed. “But that was before I met Isabella! I think a part of me felt… guilt, for having been attracted to the man that killed her. After I realized that he had killed Isabella, it was easier to deny that I had ever wanted him in that way than to deal with the… dissonance those feelings created. I think his appearance was to… remind me of that attraction and help me accept it,” Edward said, blushing furiously all the while and refusing to look at Lee.

“I was easier to pretend you had never wanted Oswald than to deal with the guilt of finding your lover’s killer desirable?” Lee restated.

“Well… yes,” Edward said. “Technically. But I stopped thinking of Oswald that way when I met Isabella, and afterwards. I thought he’d made it pretty clear to me that my… _feelings_ weren’t reciprocated. I was wrong about that.”

“How did knowing that Oswald was attracted to you affect your reaction?” Lee asked.

“I don’t think it changed much,” Edward contemplated. “He was still my best friend, and knowing that someone I cared for had done something so horrible to me… that was enough on its own. How he felt for me didn’t change what he did, and if he loved me at all it wouldn’t have happened.”

“I should have been more specific,” Lee said. “Did finding out that the attraction was mutual alter your feelings, not your decisions?” Edward was quiet for a moment.

“It made me wonder what it could be like between Oswald and I,” Edward quietly admitted. “The dirt on Isabella’s grave was still fresh, and there I was: contemplating shacking up with her murderer. If I’d felt guilt for being attracted to him, it was even worse knowing that he’d killed her out of some twisted love for me that I hadn’t noticed. I should have _noticed_. I felt guilt over wanting him, but being too much of a coward to say it outright in the first place, and for not seeing that he felt the same way in time to save Isabella.”

“What did it mean for your relationship when you were able to acknowledge that he really loved you?” Lee asked.

“Well I… I haven’t had much of a chance to think about it. I didn’t really believe it until after I’d shot him. I couldn’t reconcile that someone who’d done what he did to me could also truly love me. Before, the ideas had been mutually exclusive in my mind. Those feelings and those actions were irreconcilable. When I finally accepted that he’d genuinely loved me… it was hard.”

“Why was it hard?” Lee urged.

“Because it means that to this day, Oswald is the only person who has seen the very worst of me and still loves me unconditionally.” Lee sat back in her seat, and Edward sighed, feeling like the physical weight of that bombshell was finally off of his shoulders.

“What did you two talk about, in the Lounge?” Lee asked.

“He apologized to me,” Edward said. “He even apologized for killing Isabella. So… now I don’t know what to think.” Before, the only thing he’d held on to was that Oswald had never been sorry for what he did, only that Edward had found out. Now Oswald was sorry, and still loved him, leaving Edward at a loss for how to proceed.

“I have to wonder, why did you poke at your truce with Oswald by mocking him? What was the point?” Edward’s first instinct was to lie, to protect what little dignity he had left, but…

What would be the point? Lee had already seen him cry, seen him weak. There was no reason to put on airs around her.

“I… may have been hoping he would show up himself.” Lee’s eyes widened.

“Edward… what were you hoping for?”

“What do you want me to say?” Edward said, tone acerbic. “That I wanted him to fight for me, to tell me he loved me? It was never going to happen.”

“But you wanted it to,” Lee gently stated, her pen going flat against the clipboard.

“I don’t want this truce,” Edward said. “The only reason we have one is because I’m too _stupid_ to match him. It’s a reminder of how little I matter to him now, that I’m not even worthy of being a threat to him anymore. I’m nothing to him. I mean nothing. He used to want to love me, now he can’t get rid of me soon enough. And what’s _worse_ is that I care so much about it, I’ll do something stupid like baiting him, and he won’t even _deign_ to show up. He actually wants to forget about me, and I—” Edward abruptly cut himself off.

“You can’t forget about him?” Lee asked, growing sympathy on her tone.

“I meant to tell you,” Edward said, abruptly changing tone. “I admired your attitude towards Jim, after Pyg. You two were the dream couple. Going to get married, have a child together… and you didn’t even give him the time of day.”

“Jim and I had a chance to be together, and it didn’t work out. I think part of what makes your situation with Oswald so difficult is that you never even got the chance to be together before things got so messy.” Edward was momentarily stunned. Why did that make so much sense? Why was it that the _possibility_ he’d lost hurt almost as much as the loss itself? It had been the same with Kristen, with Isabella. Edward had seen the potential he and Oswald had when they were working together, and it was perhaps the sheer magnitude of that potential that made losing Oswald his greatest loss of all.

“I’m so _sick_ ,” Edward said, Owen’s voice echoing in his head. “I shouldn’t want to mean anything him; he killed Isabella. He shouldn’t _matter_ to me.”

“But you still love him,” Lee said, her voice oh-so-understanding. Edward wanted to yell at her not to encourage him, to help him get back to his senses and forget all about Oswald Cobblepot. He realized then that perhaps she could relate, and decided to answer her honestly.

“I don’t _know_. Oswald was a part of me, of who I am. I can’t tell if I love him objectively,” he argued, trying to avoid the question.

“No one loves objectively. It’s a fool’s errand to try and determine whether you love someone… _logically_.” Edward’s head swam as Lee unknowingly echoed Isabella’s advice to him. Love wasn’t something he could determine experimentally; there was no litmus test for love. It was a _feeling_.

“Edward… why don’t you try saying it? See how it feels,” Lee suggested, smiling sympathetically at him.

“You want me to say that I love him?” Edward said, his lip curling in distaste. He’d never admitted it aloud, not even to himself.

“Why not, it doesn’t have to mean anything. They’re just words,” Lee said. Well, she did have a point, but…

“I would much rather you be telling me that it’s okay to say that I _hate_ him, after everything he’s done,” Edward argued.

“I know that’s not true,” Lee said, her tone no-nonsense. “You can’t help how you feel. The first step is to accept your true feelings for him, whatever they may be. Then I can help you decide what you do or do not want to do about them, okay?” Edward considered her proposal it for a moment.

There was a possibility that he loved Oswald, or that he had at some point. Doing this would help him confirm or deny whether ‘love’ felt like the right term to apply to his feelings for Oswald, which was what he needed be focusing on if he wanted to move forward. And he wanted a way forward very, _very_ badly. What would be the harm, anyways? No one would hear him apart from Lee, and she had already acknowledged that she knew it didn’t necessarily mean anything for him to say it.

“Okay,” Edward hesitantly agreed.

“Try saying it,” Lee encouraged when Edward remained silent. He took a deep breath.

“I… I love him,” Edward said, feeling like he was doing a lot more than merely letting go of air to produce a sound.

“I love him.” His chest hurt, like a heart attack. Or acid reflux. Was this nausea? Disgust? It was _painful_ , whatever it was.

“I _love_ him.” Eyes watering, he let the tears that had pooled in his eyes due to the sudden pain in his chest fall.

“How do you feel about saying that?” _Oh dear._ It wasn’t disgust he was feeling.

“It hurts,” Edward said, gasping for air and dragging the back of his forearm under his eyes.

“Why?” Lee pressed.

“Because it’s _true_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've gotten through all the important therapy! YAY! I mean.... all that's left it the childhood trauma that caused his DID and the fallout of getting abducted by Pyg... but otherwise yeah. Edward's mental health is probably the biggest undertaking of Lee's career. Also, I'm not talking about Edward's decision to try and kill Oswald a second time because I've done meta to explain that before in other fics and it's not particularly relevant to Edward's current identity crisis or moving this plot along. So yeah. Hope everyone enjoyed taking this huge step towards nygmobblepot with Ed! Please leave a comment about anything you enjoyed about this, or maybe you hated it and think I'm an idiot and interpreting things all wrong and want to yell at me... okay maybe don't do that cause I'll cry. I'm sensitive.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward finds a willing distraction from his revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW, no other warnings.

Edward left Lee’s office in a daze. He still had a whole day to get through, and Lee gave him the key to her apartment, instructing him to lie low there with Grundy and take the day off. But the _last_ thing Edward wanted was to be alone with his thoughts. Fortunately, an opportunity presented itself.

A strong hand grabbed his arm, halting his progress to collect Grundy from Cherry’s old office, where Edward had left him with a jigsaw puzzle.

“Edward, I need to talk to you.” Edward’s heart skipped a beat. It was Owen. He couldn’t decide if it was the best timing, or the _worst_.

“Can it wait?” Edward asked, daring to glance up into Owen’s eyes. There was a sense of urgency there, and he knew what Owen was going to say before he even said it.

“It really can’t,” Owen said, letting go of his arm. Edward glanced back at Lee’s office, wondering if he was about to make another mistake he’d have to tell her about and cry over.

“Where do you want to talk?”

Owen took his hand, leading him down the halls and to the locker room. Edward’s lips tingled as he recalled the last time they were in there together, a flare of heat building in his stomach despite himself. He really should not have been doing this.

“I wanted to apologize to you,” Owen said. Edward did a double take, realizing he’d zoned out completely and that Owen had already closed the door behind them.

“For what?” Edward said.

“I was afraid you’d bring Penguin’s attention here, and I was right about that. But… it was going to happen sooner or later. He’s power hungry, and there isn’t a doubt in my mind he’s going to want to expand into the Narrows.” Owen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m still angry you lied, but I’ve thought about everything you went through and what that must have been like. I was only thinking of myself and of my family, not your feelings. I didn’t consider how traumatic it must have been for you to go through all that, or why it might have been hard for you to talk about what happened. I know how hard it was for you to tell me about your brain damage. You trusted me with that information, with a secret that I could have used against you, and that didn’t mean nothing. It was unfair of me to have expected you to tell me about… about everything else. Especially so soon. I’m sorry. I think I jumped the gun, but everything between us happened so fast…”

“I’m quickly becoming notorious for whirlwind relationships,” Edward joked, trying to lighten the mood. Owen’s kindness and sincerity were a little too much for him right now. Owen smiled warmly at him, and that was also _far_ too much.

“Now, after what happened with Cherry, I can… understand your past a little better,” Owen said, rubbing the back of his neck again. It was dawning on Edward that Owen was nervous, but he couldn’t imagine why.

“Is that all?” Edward said, brushing a stray hair from his face and leaning his shoulders against the lockers behind him. Owen just _had_ to be understanding, didn’t he? It made this so much harder.

“No,” Owen said. Edward looked up at him again. He’d expected that to be the end of it. Curious, he titled his head.

“I shot Cherry,” Owen said. Edward gasped, and he couldn’t help but look around the room and ensure that it was deserted.

“Why?” Edward exclaimed.

“She was going to hand you over to Penguin,” Owen whispered, stepping closer. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

“You—” Edward’s words stuck in his throat as Owen approached. “Are you serious?”

“I’m not lying,” Owen said. “They say you recovered the bullet for Lee, and I know you used to be a forensic. I used a Colt 22. What does that tell you?” The bullet Edward had recovered was marked by left-handed striations, which were only made by the rifling in guns manufactured by Colt. Edward didn’t need to run a comparison test to know that Owen wasn’t lying.

“Thank you,” Edward said, at a loss for what else to say. “Why did you… why did you do it, though?”

“I care about you, Edward,” Owen said. “I thought a lot about what I said, and what you said. I was scared, and I wanted to protect my family. But I wasn’t scared of you, not really. Even after everything I read. I grew up in the worst part of Gotham; I’ve seen people get killed on the regular working this gig. Hell, I killed someone yesterday. It took some thinking but… I like you, Edward. I think we’ve really got something here worth keeping.”

“Owen, this isn’t going to work,” Edward said, doing his best to ignore how _amazing_ Owen was suddenly being about his history, how much he’d wanted the last conversation they’d had to go this way. “You were right. Anyone around me is in immediate danger from Oswald. I think we should just leave things the way they are. It’s for the best.”

“I think I’ll decide what risks I’m willing to accept,” Owen said, stepping into Edward’s personal space. Edward flattened his back to the lockers behind him, feeling trapped by Owen’s gaze alone. “And what I think is for the best.”

“Owen—" he kissed Edward, silencing any protest he was about to make. Edward melted into him almost instantly. Owen was safe and familiar, and right now all Edward wanted was a distraction from Oswald and everything that meant to him. Owen had just confessed to killing Cherry for _him_ , to keep him safe. Because _Edward_ had been in danger, and Owen cared about him. That was enough. Maybe it was selfish to do this to Owen when he knew it couldn’t be anything more, but that thought was swept away as easily as Owen pressed him back against the lockers, fingers coming up to grip his hips tightly.

Edward gave in, wrapping his arms around Owen’s shoulders and letting Owen grip his thigh, hitching it up around his waist. He rolled his hips into Edward’s, the low heat Edward had felt simmering in his belly now an inferno as Edward rocked into him. Owen’s tongue was teasing his own, the slow grind of his hips doing nothing to dissuade Edward from wanting him. His chemistry with Owen in this sense was undeniable, and it gave Edward exactly what he needed: an attraction to someone who _wasn’t_ Oswald. A _distraction_.

Owen let his leg fall, fingers moving to pull Edward’s belt apart and undo his pants. Edward broke the kiss, looking down as he hastily made work of Owen’s. He cupped Owen through his underwear, rubbing his hardness through it. Owen’s hips jerked into his hand, and Edward grabbed at his pants and briefs and tugged them down, sinking smoothly to his knees in the same motion.

“Eddie—”

“Quiet,” Edward said, wrapping his hand around him. He stroked Owen a few times, building up the courage to lean forward and taste the head of Owen’s cock with his tongue.

“Shit,” Owen said, carding his hand through Edward’s hair. Edward practically purred at the attention, wrapping his lips around Owen and continuing to stroke him. He sank down a little farther, bobbing his head in time with his hand. Staring up at Owen through his lashes, he could tell he was having quite the effect on the other man. “Shit, Eddie.” He pulled off.

“Stop talking,” Edward said, quickly returning to the rhythm he’d set, cheeks hollowed around the cock in his mouth. Owen watched him work, moaning, even pulling at his hair a little, and Edward was not surprised to find that he liked it. He closed his eyes, satisfied that he no longer had to watch Owen’s face to know that he was doing a decent job. Owen’s pleasured noises told him enough in that regard.

With his eyes closed like this, it could be any man in his mouth, anyone pulling at his hair and groaning as Edward got him off. Edward rubbed his left hand over himself through the fly of his pants, rocking into his palm through his underwear. The hand in his hair tightened, forcing the cock in Edward’s mouth deeper than he’d allowed it to go before. He found himself keening, a high-pitched whine building in his throat in the hopes of _more, deeper_. Hips stuttered into Edward’s grip, and an unmistakable taste hit his tongue as he continued to bob his head, working through the other man’s release. Edward swallowed around the tip, keeping his lips sealed as he came.

Edward was reluctantly pulled off the cock by his hair, still salivating at the rush of having another man in his mouth. It was no small source of pride for Edward that he had made him come using his mouth, and after his first try no less. Blinking his eyes open, Edward found that his glasses were completely fogged. He was pulled to his feet by strong hands, his knees vaguely aching from kneeling on the cold, hard floor. He found himself pressed back against the lockers, the familiar chill startling him into remembering exactly who he was doing this with.

He wasn’t just getting on his knees for any man, it was _Owen_. Who he _cared_ about. He felt a sudden shame for reducing Owen to any nameless male while he was taking him into his mouth. Was he really so callous? He wouldn’t just use Owen for sex, or for a distraction…

Was that not _exactly_ what he was doing right now?

Owen kissed him, tasting himself on Edward’s tongue. He pushed his thigh between Edward’s legs, and Edward gratefully rutted against it, his cock painfully hard.

“Touch me,” Edward demanded, breaking the kiss. Owen lifted him easily with hands around his thighs, shuffling a few steps and then laying him back on the bench.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Owen said, palming over Edward’s cock. Edward bit his tongue. He was hard enough now that Owen could call him whatever he wanted.

Owen pulled back, sliding down the bench and undoing the laces of Edward’s shoes. He pulled them off, then reached for Edward’s pants and boxers, pulling both down his legs. Edward shivered as Owen tossed them aside, quickly covering Edward’s body with his own once more. He kissed Edward sloppy and deep, licking any remaining traces of himself from inside of Edward’s mouth. Edward clutched him closer, snapping his hips up impatiently into Owen. He drew his knees toward him until they were around Owen’s sides, digging his heels into Owen’s lower back to spur him into giving Edward more friction.

Owen kissed across his cheek, wet and open-mouthed, down to his neck. Edward whined and dragged his cock along Owen’s stomach, something pleasant about the texture of his shirt Edward could not currently comprehend. Owen continued lavishing Edward’s neck with attention, making Edward writhe underneath him. He undid the first few buttons on Edward’s shirt, granting him access to the previously unexplored territory of Edward’s collarbones. Edward patiently endured the sweet torment of Owen nibbling across them, but he was desperate for Owen to direct his attention elsewhere.

“ _Please_ ,” Edward said, taking hold of Owen’s wrist and moving it between his legs. Finally, _finally_ , Owen was touching him. He arched his back, a feeling like electricity jolting through him from the contact.

“Oswa—" The door handle of the locker room jiggled, and Owen quickly clapped a hand over Edward’s mouth, quieting his cries. Edward’s chest heaved, breathing heavily through his nose as the handle stilled and the door ceased shaking. His heart raced, wondering if Owen had noticed his slip. Owen laughed after a moment, pulling his hand away.

“What’s so funny?” Edward said, wiggling his hips.

“Your face when you thought they were going to walk in,” Owen said. _My face when I thought you heard me say Oswald’s name._ Edward slapped at Owen’s bicep, going along with it. It was preferable to the alternate explanation.

“Good thing I locked the door,” Owen said, winking at him.

“Good thing,” Edward said, tightening his thighs around Owen’s waist. “Now if you wouldn’t mind...”

Owen kissed him hard, then slid down the bench. He pushed Edward’s shirt up, pressing kisses to his stomach, down his happy trail. Owen bit the insides of his thighs and then licked a stripe along each, pointedly ignoring Edward’s straining erection. Finally, Owen wrapped a hand around him again, pulling slowly. Edward moaned, high pitched and wanton, shoving his knuckles into his mouth to stifle himself. Owen’s head lowered, and he wrapped his lips around the tip of Edward’s cock, slowly bobbing up and down with ease.

Edward had never had someone’s mouth on him, but he knew he had to be still. Owen’s free hand on his hip helped, but he couldn’t help but strain against it when Owen did something particularly pleasurable with his tongue. Owen pulled off his cock, letting it fall against Edward’s stomach. He pushed Edward’s thighs back, holding him behind the knees and exposing Edward completely to his scrutiny. Edward felt his face flush. No one had ever seen him like this: splayed out and disheveled. He disappeared between Edward’s legs, and then Edward felt a hot wetness gliding over his hole, the feeling so good he dug his teeth painfully hard into his hand to keep himself from crying out. Owen licked between his cheeks again, and again, and again and again and again until Edward felt tears in his eyes from the strain of holding back his cries.

Edward pushed his ass back against Owen’s face, reaching down with one hand to force Owen’s tongue against him harder, quickly becoming mindless with pleasure from the feeling. His heels were resting on Owen’s upper back, and he dug those in as well for good measure. He just wanted it _in_ already. As if reading his mind, Owen pointed his tongue and pressed past the tight ring of Edward’s rim. Edward switched to biting his forearm, his hand quickly becoming too painful to continue digging his teeth into it. He steered Owen’s head with his other hand, rolling his hips and fucking himself on his tongue. It felt so good to have someone else inside of him, why hadn’t he tried this sooner? Owen’s motions were unpredictable, and it was incredible how much better it felt than his own fingers. Edward thought he knew his body well, he liked that he could always tease an orgasm out of himself without fail, but this was another thing _entirely_.

Owen sat up, and Edward shuddered as his wet opening met the cool air of the locker room. Owen pressed two fingers to Edward’s mouth, and Edward obediently opened it, allowing Owen to push past his lips.

“Get them wet.”

Owen’s voice sounded deeper than usual, and Edward took to the task with pleasure. He peered at Owen through his lashes, eyes half lidded as he bobbed on Owen’s fingers like he had earlier on his cock. He ran his tongue over them, took them all the way into his mouth and _sucked_ , pulling off with an obscene pop when he was finished. Owen stared at him all the while, mouth agape. He remained sitting up, moving his fingers down, between Edward’s cheeks. He didn’t watch what his fingers were doing, instead he observed Edward’s face as he circled the pad of his finger around his rim, then slowly pressed the tip past its tightness. Edward sucked in a harsh breath and released it, pulling Owen down by the nape of his neck to kiss him.

His finger worked inside of Edward, tentatively stroking over Edward’s prostate as he entered him for the first time. Edward moaned, breaking the kiss, and Owen moved on to kissing Edward’s sensitive throat and collarbones again. Edward relaxed around the intrusion, and Owen pressed a second finger into him without warning. He gasped and rocked down onto it, eager for more, to feel Owen stretching him. Owen left a lingering kiss on his lips and moved back between his legs, taking Edward’s cock between his lips again. Edward felt caught between fucking himself on Owen’s fingers and thrusting up into his mouth, his thighs already shaking around Owen’s head as he pleasured Edward. It wasn’t long before it all became too much, and Edward felt the steadily increasing ecstasy Owen was bringing to him reach a tipping point.

“I’m there,” Edward warned him, the words hoarse with screams he hadn’t voiced. He latched onto his arm again, biting down hard as his orgasm crashed over him, Owen’s clever fingers and tongue drawing it out of him. His hips stuttered wildly into Owen’s mouth with the first waves of it, and he felt spasms running down his thighs. Even after he was finished, his legs still shook. Owen had apparently swallowed around him, bending over Edward to kiss him as he struggled to catch his breath. Edward could taste himself on Owen’s tongue; that was a first. His chest rose and fell rapidly, as if he’d just finished a sprint. Owen tugged him closer, holding him, and Edward tried not to feel stifled by it. He certainly hadn’t the last time.

He wrapped his arms around Owen, carefully hooking his chin over the other man’s shoulder as he laid on top of Edward, very slightly crushing him. Edward stared up at the ceiling, Owen’s weight between his legs was a welcome one, though it was uncomfortable to have him pressing on Edward’s chest while he tried to catch his breath. Owen kissed his ear, and they laid together like that for another minute, the sweat on Edward’s body rapidly cooling and becoming uncomfortable in the chill of the locker room. Owen was radiating body heat, but it wasn’t enough.

“I want to get dressed,” Edward said, goosebumps beginning to form on his legs, even on his arms underneath the sleeves of his shirt. Owen moved off him, grabbing Edward’s pants and underwear from the floor and handing them to him. Owen merely had to pull his pants and underwear up to be fully covered, and Edward could feel Owen’s eyes on him as he dressed. He found his shoes, pulling them on and doing up the laces. Edward stood, smoothing down his clothing and preparing to face Owen.

“Come home with me,” Owen said, stepping forward and putting his hands on Edward’s waist. Edward wanted so badly to be able to say yes, to mean it.

“Owen,” he began, clearing his throat and starting over. “Owen, you’re a great guy, and I will never be able to express how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for me.” He put his hands on Owen’s wrists, removing them from his waist.

“But this can’t happen again. You deserve better than me.”

“Don’t I get to decide that?” Owen said, taking hold of Edward’s hands.

“You don’t know everything that I do,” Edward said. “If you did, you’d agree with me.”

“Tell me, and I’ll decide whether or not it’s a deal breaker,” Owen insisted. Edward shook his head.

“Owen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let what just happened… happen. It’s over.” He was definitely going to hell for this. Owen looked like a kicked puppy.

“Can I still see you?” he asked, cupping Edward’s cheek. Edward leaned into it, knowing already that he would miss this.

“Would you want to?” Edward asked, meeting his eyes.

“I don’t know. I’m asking,” Owen said. Edward considered it.

“I think I’d like that,” he said. Owen leaned in, kissing him passionately. He ended it just as quickly as it had begun.

“That’s it, then,” Owen said, his gaze flicking from Edward’s eyes to his lips. Edward licked his bottom lip, and Owen’s stare followed the flick of his tongue. Who Owen was, what he had to offer…. It was tempting. Tempting, and completely wrong of him to take when he knew he couldn’t offer Owen something real in return.

“That’s it,” Edward said. Owen nodded. He let go of Edward’s face, his hand. He unlocked the door, and then he was gone. Edward sank heavily onto the bench.

What he had just done with Owen could _never_ happen again. He’d just been looking for a distraction from Oswald, his feelings for the other man. It was unfair to Owen, and it was dishonest of Edward to have gone through with it. Even worse: the entire exercise had been pointless. Edward had been selfish and used a good man— a man he cared about— for his own devices. It hadn’t even made a difference.

He’d been thinking of Oswald the entire time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owen buys a new gun after Pyg takes his. Punching the Emperor Penguin made it vital that he quickly acquire another firearm. Just in case anyone was wondering about that 'plot hole'. (there are none; i think of everything). If you do notice a plot hole you should tell me. I'll probably die of embarrassment but if they exist I wanna know. Anyways, no, Owen wasn't gone forever. I didn't wanna spoil it. I still need him to be Edward's test dummy for a few things so that he doesn't make any mistakes with guys who will take advantage of him or hurt him. Instead, he makes mistakes with Owen. (Poor Owen.) But hey, at least Edward will have a friend after all this. (A friend he slept with, who will definitely be a great test of Oswald's sincerity once he and Edward are together and Owen keeps coming around... there's a reason for everything i do, y'all.) Anyways, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. Sofia will be causing a stir sooner than you think, and Edward technically owes Oswald a favor...


	15. Chapter 15

A Seal Upon Your Heart will be continued in Part II: Love Is Strong As Death.


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